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THE  WHITE 
COTTAGE 


THE  WHITE 
COTTAGE 


BY 

ZACK 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1901 


COPYRIGHT,  1901,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTIHG  AND  BOOKBIHDIRO  COMPACT 
NEW   YORK 


URL 
SRLF 


THE  WHITE 
COTTAGE 


CHAPTER  I 

HALF-WAY  between  two  headlands  lay  the 
fishing  village  of  Bere- Upton,  a  handful  of 
cottages,  some  crushed  in  between  the  cliffs, 
others  struggling  upwards,  following  the 
hill's  incline.  Far  out  on  the  horizon's  edge 
the  November  sun  glowed  dully  across  the 
water,  and  then  sank  out  of  sight,  as  if  over- 
whelmed by  the  rising  sea.  In  the  bay  a 
boat  drifted  before  the  wind,  the  tiller  yaw- 
ing from  side  to  side  unheeded,  as  a  fisher- 
man drew  in  and  coiled  up  his  lines.  The 
gulls  wheeled  round  him  uttering  harsh 
cries;  once  he  raised  his  head  and  looked 
past  them  at  a  small  white-washed  cottage 
that  stood  on  the  cliff's  edge  apart  from  the 
rest  of  the  village  and  stared  back  at  him 
from  its  lattice  windows.  The  young  fellow 

1 


2  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

smiled,  and  his  keen,  sensitive  face  became 
for  the  moment  almost  beautiful. 

"  When  me  and  Luce  be  man  and  wife," 
he  exclaimed,  "  us  will  rent  that  cottage  as 
sure  as  my  name  is  Mark  Tavy."  Lowering 
the  sail,  he  took  up  the  oars  and  began  to 
row  shore- wards.  Mark  Tavy  was  barely 
twenty-six,  but  he  looked  older;  there  was  a 
strain  of  religious  enthusiasm  in  his  blood, 
and  his  face,  without  being  spiritual,  was 
worn  with  inward  conflict.  The  sun  sank 
beneath  the  horizon,  solitariness  crept  over 
sea  and  land  and  into  Mark's  heart.  Rest- 
ing on  his  oars  he  fell  into  a  reverie. 

"  The  Bible  says,"  he  muttered,  "  that  the 
man  who  holds  by  the  Almighty,  the  Al- 
mighty will  hold  by  him.  Well,  I  have  led 
a  clean  life  an'  acted  fair.  The  devil  ain't 
never  bested  me  yet,  and  what's  more,  he 
never  shall."  A  curious  muffled  sound, 
like  a  subdued  laugh,  echoed  across  the 
water  as  the  wind  dropped  round  a  point 
more  east.  Mark  glanced  about  him  un- 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  3 

easily.  "One  could  most  believe  that  he 
was  on  the  listen.  Well,  let  him  listen. 
He  can't  work  me  no  harm.  I'm  on  the 
Lord's  side."  Bending  over  his  oars  he  sent 
the  boat  forward  with  long  swinging  strokes, 
and  a  few  moments  later  the  keel  grated  on 
the  shingle. 

Mark's  parents  had  been  dead  two  years ; 
they  had  been  upright,  hard-grained,  unsocia- 
ble people,  respected  but  not  liked.  Fully 
assured  that  when  they  died  their  funeral 
would  be  well  attended,  they  had  cared  little 
that  during  life  their  company  remained 
unsought.  At  their  death  he  went  to  live 
with  his  widowed  sister,  Susan  Flutter. 
Mark  passed  her  door  without  entering, 
turned  into  a  side  track  and  came  at  last  to 
the  White  Cottage  on  the  cliff.  The  moon 
had  risen,  and  the  barred  door  and  garden, 
shorn  of  flowers,  would  have  looked  desolate 
to  other  eyes ;  but  Mark's  were  full  of  visions 
of  future  happiness.  In  imagination  he  saw 
Luce  standing  at  the  door  with  his  child  in 


4  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

her  arms,  a  child  so  like  Luce  and  yet  his. 
The  wind  whistled  through  the  bare  trees, 
and  he  thought  he  heard  again  the  music  of 
spring,  as  it  had  sounded  on  the  far  away 
April  morning  when  love  first  awoke  in  his 
heart. 

"God  will  ing,  I'll  be  a  good  husband  to 
Luce,"  he  murmured,  "  though  her  has  never 
cared  for  me  the  same  as  I  have  for  her." 

Luce  was  the  only  child  of  John  Myrtle, 
the  village  stone-mason,  and  even  among  the 
maids  of  Bere-Upton,  who  were  famous  for 
their  good  looks,  she  was  accounted  a  beau- 
tiful woman.  Mark  and  she  had  been 
friends  in  childhood;  once  when  she  had 
stood  in  mortal  fear  of  being  carried  off  by 
pixies,  she  had  willingly  promised  to  marry 
him.  On  reaching  manhood  Mark  had  tried 
hard  to  get  her  to  renew  her  promise,  but 
though  she  had  liked  him  better  than  the 
other  village  lads,  and  had  felt  that  some 
day  she  might  be  his  wife,  she  had  yielded 
half-heartedly  and  not  till  after  long  press- 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  5 

ing.  Mark,  thinking  of  her  strange  absent 
moods  when  her  thoughts  and  love  seemed 
to  wander  from  him,  sighed  wearily  as  he 
turned  away  and  retraced  his  steps  to 
Widow  Flutter's  cottage. 

Entering  the  kitchen  he  found  his  sister's 
two  lovers,  Constable  Garge  and  Septimus 
Spong,  the  postman,  seated  one  on  each  side 
of  the  fire.  A  pleasant  smell  issued  from 
the  frying-pan,  which  the  buxom  widow 
shook  gently  while  the  contents  crackled 
and  spat. 

"Tripe  and  chitlings  mixed,"  exclaimed 
Septimus  Spong,  with  a  nod  of  satisfaction. 
The  meal  over,  and  the  widow  busy  washing 
up  the  tea  things  in  the  scullery,  Constable 
Garge  moved  his  chair  back  to  the  fire  and 
seemed  to  fall  into  a  dream,  while  the  light 
from  the  flames  drew  his  big  figure  in  gigan- 
tic shadow  on  the  wall  and  shone  on  his 
corn-coloured  beard,  turning  it  to  a  red  gold. 

A  sudden  determination  came  to  the 
young  fellow.  "  Septimus,"  he  said,  address- 


6  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

ing  Spong,  "  you  know  that  little  white- 
washed cottage  o'  yours  that  stands  by 
itself  upo'  the  cliff  yonder.  Well,  I've 
been  thinking  lately  of  getting  married  and 
settling  down  comfortable.  I  reckon  that 
little  snip  o'  a  house  wud  be  just  the  thing  I 
want." 

"Law,"  exclaimed  Spong,  "who  be  you 
gwaying  to  marry  ?  The  widdy's  your  sister. 
But  then,"  he  added,  as  Mark  burst  into  a 
laugh,  "  if  you  give  me  a  bit  o'  help  wi'  som- 
mat  I've  set  my  mind  on,  we'll  talk  about  the 
cottage  later.  Happen  you  don't  know,"  he 
continued,  casting  a  quick  glance  at  his 
rival,  "  that  the  widdy's  latest  fancy  is  none 
other  than  to  be  wooed  in  vuss.  Well,  I  sat 
in  a  draught  the  best  part  o'  last  night,  but 
nary  a  line  was  I  the  better  for  it.  I  took 
the  widdy  to  pieces  in  my  mind's  eye,  as  a 
man  might  a  clock,  but  not  one  part  o'  her 
rhymed  wi'  t'other,  and  yet,  mind  you,  her's 
that  pleasant  to  look  on,  a  man  could  have 
sworn  there  was  vuss  in  her  somewhere." 


THE    WHITE   COTTAGE  7 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Mark,  glancing  down 
at  the  man's  red  face,  with  its  mingled  ex- 
pression of  cunning  and  simplicity,  "what 
will  you  do  ?  " 

"  Did  'ee  ever  write  a  vuss  yourself  ?  " 

The  young  fisherman  coloured.  "  Once," 
he  answered,  "  but  I  tore  un  up." 

"  Would  he  fit  the  widdy  ? " 

"  Law  bless  'ee,"  Mark  replied,  not  with- 
out indignation,  "that  was  writ  to  a  maid." 

"  I  ain't  got  nought  to  say  agin  thic.  The 
widdy  was  a  maid  herself  once." 

Mark  cleared  his  throat.  "  Come  outside," 
he  said.  "  Poo'try's  warm  work." 

"Aye,  there  isn't  its  ekal  for  taking  the 
flesh  off  a  man,"  agreed  Spong,  picking  up 
his  cap  from  the  table  and  following  Mark 
out.  "Well,"  he  continued  when  the  door 
closed  behind  them,  "let  us  have  the  vuss." 

The  young  fellow  drew  in  a  quick  breath 
and  glanced  first  down  the  silent  street  and 
then  up  at  the  sky  where  the  stars  flashed 
one  against  the  other. 


8  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

"  A  man,"  he  said,  "  feels  more  like  poo'- 
try  out  here." 

"  Aye,"  Spoug  assented ;  "  the  wind  is  due 
east.  Don't  keep  me  puddling  round  longer 
than  needsome." 

"  Well,"  Mark  explained,  "  the  lines  run 
so: 

I. 

"  Her  eyes  they  be  so  dimmet  brown, 

Her  hair  is  rust  o'  gold. 
And  all  the  skies  must  tummil  down 
Before  she  shall  grow  old. 

II. 

"  Her  breath  is  cool  upo'  the  lips 

As  dew  upo'  the  fern, 
And  he  who  first  its  freshness  sips, 

Has  nothing  left  to  earn. 

III. 

"  Her  thoughts  be  sweet  as  young  spring  grass 

That  greens  the  pleasant  plain. 
And  he  who  dares  to  woo  the  lass, 

Must  keep  his  heart  full  clane. 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  9 

"  That  be  they,"  Mark  exclaimed,  heaving 
a  sigh.  "It  makes  me  sweat  all  over  to 
think  that  I  ever  wrote  'em.  And  now  for 
the  cottage." 

"Well,"  replied  Spong  slowly,  "I  be 
most  'mazing  sorry,  but  I  let  un  not  more 
than  an  hour  ago  to  Ben  Lupin." 

"  Ben  Lupin  ! "  cried  the  young  fisherman, 
a  sudden  fierce  anger  blazing  up  in  his  blue 
eyes. 

"  Aye,  he's  come  home  at  last." 

"  Curse  him  !  "  exclaimed  Mark.  "  Five 
years  he's  bided  quiet,  and  now  he  comes  and 
takes  the  little  home  I  have  set  my  heart  on 
to  build  his  own  nest  in." 

An  expression,  half  pity,  half  contempt, 
passed  across  Septimus  Spong's  face.  "  Ben 
Lupin  be  one  o'  they  that  things  fall  to,"  he 
said ;  "  and  you,  if  I  know  aught  o'  men, 
belong  to  them  folk  that  desarve  and  don't 
git.  Wall,  wall,  this  is  a  queer  world ;  'tis 
better  to  be  born  lucky  than  wise." 

Mark   did   not  wait  for  the  end  of  the 


10  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

homily,  but  strode  off  up  the  hill,  head  bent, 
shoulders  hunched,  and  hands  thrust  deep 
into  his  pockets. 

Spong  watched  him  a  moment,  and  then 
turned  to  re-enter  the  cottage.  "  Dang  me," 
he  exclaimed  suddenly,  stopping  short,  "  if 
that  there  poo'try  vusa  iddn't  gone  clane 
out  o'  my  head,  and  the  chances  be  that  I 
shan't  light  on  un  agin  this  side  o'  the  Day 
o'  Jidginent." 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  seemed  to  Mark,  as  he  walked  away, 
that  his  disappointment  would  have  been 
less  bitter  if  the  cottage  had  been  taken  by 
any  other  man  than  Ben  Lupin.  He  and 
Ben  were  about  the  same  age,  their  interests 
had  clashed  before,  and  in  each  instance  it 
mattered  little  whether  Mark  had  right  on 
his  side  or  not,  the  result  had  been  the  same, 
and  the  event  decided  in  Lupin's  favour. 
Mark  saw  himself  as  a  just  man — perhaps 
that  is  how  we  all  see  ourselves ;  he  desired 
to  believe  in  a  world  where  good  and  bad 
met  with  their  deserts,  but  into  such  a  well- 
regulated  universe  the  figure  of  Ben  Lupin 
obstinately  refused  to  fit. 

It  may  be  that  he  inherited  from  his  father, 

old  Timothy  Lupin  the  poacher,  a  certain 

11 


12  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

faculty  for  the  slipping  out  of  as  well  as 
into  difficulties.  The  Bere-Uptonites  told 
strange  tales  of  the  old  man  over  their  ale, 
hinting  at  more  than  they  cared  to  put  into 
words ;  but  of  Ben  himself  they  spoke  out 
freely  enough,  for  though  when  on  mischief 
bent  he  never  skimped  the  doing  of  it,  he 
sinned  with  so  bare  a  face  and  in  so  open  a 
manner,  that  men  could  not  but  hold  the 
deed  less  black  than  in  truth  it  was. 

During  the  five  years  of  Lupin's  absence, 
Mark  had   not    thought  much   about   him, 

O  f 

except  when  some  glaring  instance  of  the 
wicked  flourishing  forced  itself  upon  his 
attention ;  then  he  would  track  down  the 
fields  of  memory,  and  pinning  Lupin, 
would  drag  him  forth  into  the  broad  light 
of  experience,  exclaiming :  "  There,  he's  just 
such  another."  Indeed,  Lupin,  as  depicted 
by  Mark's  mental  vision,  cut  but  a  sorry 
figure — not  that  he  was  intentionally  mis- 
represented, but  rather,  that  Mark,  summing 
up  his  own  failures,  dumped  them  straight 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  13 

down  in  paint,  as  Lupin's  ill-gotten  success. 
Nothing,  perhaps,  would  have  astonished 
Ben  Lupin  more,  had  it  been  possible  for 
him  to  realize  it,  than  the  strength  of  the 
resentment  which  he  had  aroused  in  Mark. 
Personally  he  bore  no  grudge  against,  neither 
had  he  ever  wished  to  compete  with,  the 
young  fisherman ;  he  had  rather  a  contempt 
for  him  than  otherwise.  Events  that  had  left 
a  rankling  sore  in  Mark's  heart,  had  passed 
by,  making  little  or  no  impression  on  Lup- 
in's: the  fight,  the  struggle  against  too  heavy 
odds,  the  ultimate  inevitable  failure,  had 
fallen  to  Mark ;  success  marched  with  Lupin, 
and  he  had  not  even  heard  the  jarring  of  its 
wheels.  Insignificant  and  all  but  forgotten 
events  thronged  through  the  young  fellow's 
mind  as  he  hurried  forward,  trivial  episodes 
left  behind  him  with  boyhood.  He  recalled 
the  day  on  which  he  had  found  his  first 
hobby-hawk's  nest,  and  lying  face  down- 
wards on  the  clifFs  edge,  had  pointed  out 
the  spot  to  Lupin,  and  Ben  in  return  had 


14  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

taken  all  the  eggs.  True,  the  nest  was 
situated  in  an  almost  inaccessible  place,  and 
Mark  had  but  poor  skill  as  a  cragsman — yet, 
he  had  always  felt  that  the  eggs  ought  to 
have  been  his.  When  he  had  expressed  this 
opinion  to  Lupin,  the  latter  had  laughed  and 
said  that  if  he  could  climb  down  to  the 
spot,  then  he  would  give  him  back  the  eggs. 
Many  a  time  Mark  had  adventured  to  do 
this,  while  Ben  grinned  down  derisively  at 
him  from  above,  but  success  never  crowned 
his  efforts — partly  because  he  lacked  skill, 
yet  more  perhaps  that  Lupin's  disbelief  in 
his  power  prevented  him  from  making  full 
use  of  the  skill  he  had.  Once  raked  out  of 
the  limbo  of  forgetful  ness,  his  thoughts  dwelt 
lingeringly  on  the  trivial  affair ;  there  seemed 
some  mysterious  affinity  between  it  and  Lup- 
in's present  action  in  depriving  him  of  the 
cottage.  The  possibility  that  Ben  might 
well  have  been  unconscious  of  the  disappoint- 
ment he  inflicted,  had  no  force  of  appeal,  and 
was  dismissed  with  scant  courtesy  from  the 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  15 

young  fisherman's  mind.  Resentment  burnt 
too  hot  and  the  light  from  its  flames  fell  in 
too  partial  a  fashion. 

The  Myrtles'  cottage  stood  at  the  corner 
of  a  long  lane  which,  turning  off  at  right 
angles,  ran  back  in  the  direction  of  the  sea. 
When,  a  few  minutes  later,  Mark  drew  near 
the  spot,  he  saw,  seated  on  a  low  wall  facing 
the  house,  the  figure  of  Lupin.  Ben,  care- 
lessly dressed,  his  cotton  shirt  open  at  the 
throat,  showing  his  muscular  brown  neck, 
both  hands  thrust  deep  into  his  trouser 
pockets,  heels  beating  a  tattoo  upon  the 
wall,  sat  with  his  head  flung  back,  while 
from  his  lips  issued  the  sound  of  a  whistle, 
so  clear  and  full,  that  it  might  have  come 
from  some  deep-throated  bird.  Conscious 
of  his  own  well-clothed  person,  Mark's  re- 
sentment grew  less  keen,  a  feeling  almost  of 
satisfaction  stole  through  him,  and  he  saw, 
as  if  cut  in  stone,  the  advantage  of  respect- 
ability. Stopping  short,  he  looked  at  the 
Myrtles'  cottage.  The  front  windows  were 


16  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

open  and  the  blinds  up.  A  moment  he  half 
pitied  Ben,  the  next  he  realized  the  core  of 
meaning  concealed  beneath  the  spectacle, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  but  just  that  Lupin 
should  have  made  choice  of  such  a  spot  to 
cut  so  sorry  a  figure  in.  Buoyed  up  by  the 
fitness  of  things,  Mark  advanced  and  knocked 
loudly  at  the  Myrtles'  door.  The  force  of 
the  whole  universe  seemed  beneath  the  knock 
as  the  sound  of  it  went  echoing  down  the 
street.  For  a  long  time,  however,  it  re- 
mained unanswered.  At  last,  just  as  Mark 
was  raising  his  hand  for  a  second  applica- 
tion, the  door  was  opened  by  John  Myrtle. 

"What  in  thunder  be  that  devil's  tune 
you've  been  playing  on  the  panels  ? "  he 
asked,  in  an  exasperated  voice,  poking  his 
red  face  close  to  Mark's. 

The  young  fisherman  drew  back,  he  was 
conscious  that  Lupin  had  ceased  to  whistle 
and  was  listening  for  his  reply.  Half  glanc- 
ing round  he  caught  Lupin's  deep-set  black 
eyes  fixed  on  him.  For  a  moment  he  stared 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  17 

angrily  back  at  the  ugly,  rough-cut  face 
with  its  expression  of  mingled  humour  and 
daring,  then  he  addressed  himself  to  John 
Myrtle. 

"  I've  jest  called  round  to  speak  to  Luce," 
he  said. 

"  Wull,  there's  nought  agin  'ee  a-doing  so, 
if  you  knaws  your  place,  and  behaves  like 
any  other  respectable  lad,"  Myrtle  answered. 
"  Will  'ee  come  in,  or  shall  I  ax  her  to  step 
outto'ee?" 

The  publicity  in  which  he  was  being  put 
to  shame  caused  the  hot  colour  to  mount  to 
Mark's  face,  for  the  ill-timed  loudness  of  the 
knock  hardly  out-rivalled  John  Myrtle's  voice, 
in  scope  of  sound.  "  I  wud  rather  zee  her 
here,"  he  said. 

"Zo  be  then,"  and  Myrtle  returned  into 
the  house  in  search  of  his  daughter.  There 
was  a  long  pause ;  Lupin  began  again  to 
whistle:  loud,  full,  clear,  the  notes  seemed 
to  fill  the  air  with  a  sweet  freshness.  The 
sound,  more  like  a  wood-bird  calling  to  its 


18  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

mate  than  a  man  whistling,  only  served  to 
increase  Mark's  irritation — there  was  an  ob- 
vious impropriety  in  such  music  coining  from 
such  lips.  At  last,  reluctantly,  as  if  drawn 
against  her  will,  Luce  approached. 

Putting  his  hand  on  her  arm,  "  Come  wi' 
me,"  he  said ;  "  there's  sommat  I  want  to  tell 
you."  In  the  half  light  he  could  see  that  she 
was  unusually  pale. 

"  Wait  till  I  get  my  shawl,"  she  answered 
hesitatingly.  He  allowed  her  to  go,  and 
stood  waiting  with  scant  patience  for  her  re- 
turn. At  last  she  came  back. 

"  Whatever  made  'ee  so  long  ? "  he  asked. 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  strode  away  down 
the  lane,  she  following,  till  suddenly  they 
heard  the  sea  beating  against  the  rocks,  and 
found  themselves  face  to  face  with  the  little 
white-washed  cottage.  Then  Mark  gave  vent 
to  some  of  his  bitterness  in  words.  "  Lupin's 
taken  our  little  cottage,"  he  burst  out ;  "the 
cottage  where  our  children  would  have  been 
born." 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  19 

The  girl  drew  nearer,  leant  upon  the  small 
gate  and  stared  across  at  the  cottage  with  a 
curious,  tense  gaze,  as  if  it  were  not  the  cot- 
tage that  she  saw,  but  some  vision  which 
frightened  and  yet  fascinated  her. 

"  I  have  got  to  care  for  the  little  place," 
Mark  continued.  "  I  used  to  kain  up  at  it 
when  I  was  out  in  the  bay,  fishing ;  seemed 
to  me  at  times  that  us  was  already  man  and 
wife,  and  that  you  was  waiting  up  here  kind 
o'  anxious.  Whiles  I  could  'most  hear  your 
voice  tread  across  the  sea.  'Mark.'  you 

/         */ 

would  say,  '  Mark,  bain't  you  coming  home 
along  ? '  Then  I  would  up  wi'  my  lines  and 
out  wi'  the  oars.  Aye,  Luce,  I  was  always 
for  coming  home  to  'ee." 

She  dropped  her  face  upon  her  hands  and 
shivered. 

"  Dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  you  be  cold  stand- 
ing here.  Shall  us  be  moving  ? " 

Raising  her  head  she  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  at  him,  then  with  a  sudden  movement 
flung  herself  into  his  arms.  "  Mark,  Mark," 


20  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

she  cried,  "  hold  me,  so  that  no  wan,  no  mat- 
ter who  he  be,  can  take  me  from  'ee." 

He  clasped  her  against  his  breast. 

"  Why  is  it,"  she  said,  "  that  I  can't  feel 
'ee  close?  Why  do  'ee  stand  so  far  away 
sort  o'  insecure  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  here,  sweetheart ;  my  arms  be 
round  'ee." 

"Your  spirit  iddn't  here,"  she  cried  bit- 
terly. "I don't  feel  it  saying  kinder  master- 
ful— 'Luce,  you  be  jest  Mark's,  and  he'll  up 
and  do  wi'  'ee  what  he  reckons  best.'" 

"  Why  should  I  say  that  ? "  Mark  expostu- 
lated. '*  You've  got  your  rights  the  same  as 


me." 


Dropping  her  hands  to  her  side  she  re- 
treated a  few  paces  from  him.  "  'Tiddn't  no 
use,"  she  said ;  "  a  man  can't  be  more'n  his- 
self."  The  moonlight  fell  upon  her  slight 
figure  and  upturned  face.  She  had  thrown 
a  red  shawl  over  her  head  and  shoulders,  and 
her  fair  hair,  blown  loose  by  the  wind,  tan- 
gled and  curled  about  her  forehead.  Tears 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  21 

stood  in  her  eyes  and  her  lips  trembled. 
"  You  hain't  naught  but  a  lad,  for  all  your 
six-and- twenty  years,"  she  added  with  a 
broken  laugh. 

The  blood  rushed  into  the  young  fisher- 
man's face.  "  I  never  know  what  you  be  af- 
ter," he  said.  "  Times  you  won't  as  much  as 
let  me  lay  a  hand  on  you,  then  you'll  worrit 
'cause  I  stand  aside.  I  love  'ee,  Luce.  What 
more  do  you  want  ?  " 

A  smile,  half  sad,  half  mocking,  played  for 
a  moment  about  the  corners  of  her  lips. 
"  Seems  most  as  if  I  was  alles  needing  som- 
mat  different  from  what  I  gits,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  When  us  be  man  and  wife,"  he  began. 

"Ah,"  she  interrupted,  "shall  us  ever  be 
thic?" 

"  What  do  'ee  mean  ? "  he  said,  taking  a 
quick  step  towards  her. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  mean.  I  reckon  I'll 
just  go  home." 

"Luce,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  harsh  voice, 


22  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

"'tisn't  that  you  have  grown  tired  o' 
me?" 

"No,  'tiddn't  thic." 

"Dear  heart,"  he  said,  bending  over  her, 
"  you  kinder  love  your  lad,  don't  'ee  ?  " 

She  fell  to  sobbing  gently.  "  Seems  there's 
sommat  missing  'twix  he  and  me,"  she  an- 
swered. 

Mark's  face  whitened.  "Luce,"  he  said, 
and  his  mouth  twitched,  the  words  coming  in 
jerks ;  "  you  know  how  folks  throw  it  at  me 
that  I  may  deserve  but  I  don't  get,"  he 
stopped.  "  I  couldn't  bear  it,"  he  burst  out. 
"I  jest  couldn't  bear  it." 

She  drew  herself  away  from  him  and  a  hard 
expression  came  into  her  eyes.  "  If  'ee  didn't 
hold  so  much  by  the  'pinion  o'  the  village  and 
more  by  yourself,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  wud 
come  nearer  gitting  your  rightful.  'Tis  when 
you  see  things  the  same  as  thic  that  I  feels 
so  kind  o'  far  away  from  'ee." 

"You  are  always  hard  and  judging,"  he 
answered  with  a  bitter  laugh. 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  23 

She  looked  past  the  cottage  out  over  the 
sea,  where  the  waves  purred  against  each 
other  and  the  moon  shone  on  them  in  wide 
sheets  of  light. 

"  I  ain't  jidging  by  nater,"  she  replied,  "  'tis 
only  wi'  'ee  that  I  am  so  mortal  picksome." 
Wrapping  the  shawl  more  closely  round  her 
she  turned  and  began  to  move  away. 

He  watched  her  a  moment  in  silence,  then 
springing  forward,  he  caught  her  arm. 

"Luce,"  he  cried,  "swear  that  you  will 
never  care  for  no  other  lad  than  me.  Swear 
it." 

She  tore  herself  loose  from  his  grasp. 
"  'Tis  yourself  that  should  have  the  swearing 
o'  that,"  she  exclaimed  in  passionate  impa- 
tience. "  But  there's  many  a  thread  of  a  boy 
that  'ud  beat  'ee  at  playing  the  man,"  and 
without  waiting  a  reply,  she  sped  away  in 
the  direction  of  her  home. 

While  the  echo  of  her  retreating  footsteps 
still  sounded  in  Mark's  ears,  his  attention  was 
attracted  to  the  figure  of  Constable  Garge, 


24  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

seated  close  by  on  a  heap  of  stones.  The 
policeman  was  to  all  appearance  sunk  deep  in 
meditation,  and  in  return  to  the  young  fel~ 
low's  angry  question  as  to  what  he  was  doing 
there,  raised  a  pair  of  mild,  dream-clouded 
eyes. 

"  Was  that  Luce  Myrtle  ?  "  he  asked,  and 
then,  not  waiting  for  an  answer,  continued  in 
a  dull  far-away  voice,  "  I  was  standing  'long- 
side  the  maid,  in  the  Myrtles'  doorway,  when 
Ben  Lupin  came  paking  home  from  foreign 
parts.  'Luce,'  says  he,  'here  I  be  back.' 
Her  didn't  make  no  answer,  but  fell  all  of  a 
tremble.  Arter  a  bit  her  hiked  inside  and 
slammed  the  door.  Ben  he  laughed  full  out 
like  the  ploomp-ploomp  of  water  over  stones." 

There  was  a  long  silence  broken  only  by 
the  cry  of  some  wild-fowl  flying  inland. 

"  I  was  to  have  been  called  in  church  on 
Sunday,"  exclaimed  Mark  at  last  in  a  thick 
voice,  "  but  Lupin,  he's  taken  the  cottage." 

A  slow  smile  played  across  the  constable's 
face. 


THE  WHITE   COTTAGE  25 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  u  I'll  go  to  marning 
sarvice  and  hear  'ee  read  in." 

«  But "  began  Mark. 

"I  alles  reckoned  'twas  the  maid  not  the 
cottage  you  wanted." 

The  words  afforded  Mark  food  for  reflec- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ON  nearing  home  Luce  saw  in  front  of  her 
the  short,  thick-set  figure  of  Ben  Lupin. 
Involuntarily  she  turned  and  fled  along  a 
path  leading  upwards.  Fear,  she  scarce 
knew  of  what,  possessed  her,  and  the  ground 
seemed  to  echo  back  the  tramp  of  following 
footsteps ;  yet  when  she  stopped  and  listened 
no  sound  broke  the  stillness,  except  the  far- 
off  murmur  of  the  tide.  Hurrying  forward 
she  reached  the  hill  summit,  the  lane  sud- 
denly coming  to  an  end  in  broad  sweeps  of 
pasture  that  stretched  away  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach.  Near  her  a  group  of  beech 
trees,  their  naked  stems  glistening  in  the 
moonlight,  clawed  the  ground  with  great 
fang-like  roots.  Leaning  against  one  of  the 
trunks  was  Ben  Lupin.  The  girl  stood  look- 
ing at  him,  silent  and  bewildered. 

26 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  27 

"  Well,"  lie  said,  breaking  into  a  low  musi- 
cal laugh,  "  it  seems  as  if  us  both,  had  the 
same  tastes." 

She  did  not  answer.  The  wind  caught 
her  shawl,  blowing  it  back,  revealing  her 
form.  Ben  drew  nearer ;  the  moon  shone  full 
on  him.  He  had  never  made  love  to  this 
woman,  she  had  been  little  more  than  a  child 
when  he  had  left  the  village  followed  by 
a  chorus  of  abuse,  which  he  had  aroused 
against  himself  by  a  wild  piece  of  work  in 
which  a  woman's  honour  had  fallen  victim. 
Ben  cared  little  for  the  abuse  showered  so 
liberally  upon  him ;  above  all  else  he  loved 
to  hold  life  in  a  careless  hand,  tossing  it  now 
this  way  now  that,  indifferent  to  what  befell, 
playing  with  the  happiness  of  others,  even  as 
he  played  with  his  own.  Fate  had  watched 
his  career  strangely  complacent,  letting  him 
have  his  will  with  men  and  things,  and 
Lupin  hardened,  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  retri- 
bution. It  seemed  to  him  as  if  suffering 
could  never  fall  to  his  lot,  life  containing 


28  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

nothing  that  he  either  loved  or  feared.  Un- 
known to  him  he  had  long  held  sway  over 
Luce  Myrtle's  imagination,  fired  by  tales  of 
his  wild  fantastic  doings.  Secretly  she  had 
wished  for  and  again  half  dreaded  the  return 
of  this  ugly  faced  man,  who  had  such  a  way 
with  a  maid,  that  all  women  perforce  must 
love  him ;  yet  had  she  so  shielded  her  long- 
ing in  the  privacy  of  her  heart  that  it  had 
been  to  her  but  a  half-conscious  need  of 
some  more  subtle  flavour  in  life  and  love 
than  had  hitherto  fallen  to  her  share.  Up 
to  the  time  of  Lupin's  return  the  fear  that 
she  might  some  day  be  tempted  to  be  un- 
faithful to  Mark  had  never  troubled  her ; 
still  she  had  been  restless  under  her  promise, 
much  as  a  young  filly  strains  at  the  bit, 
when  the  wrong  pair  of  hands  holds  the 
reins ;  but  with  the  meeting  again  of  Lupin 
the  veil  of  self-deception  which  had  hidden 
the  truth  from  her  was  torn  aside,  and  she 
saw  that  it  was  he  and  not  Mark  whom  she 
loved.  Overwhelmed  at  the  discovery,  she 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  29 

had  no  thought  but  to  thrust  the  secret  back 
once  more  into  her  heart,  where  it  had  been 
concealed  so  long.  Now,  as  she  stood  oppo- 
site Lupin  in  the  soft  grey  moonlight,  fear 
grew  upon  her  so  that  she  almost  ceased  to 
feel  afraid,  becoming  strangely  calm,  gazing 
inward  on  herself  as  on  some  person  far 
away;  and  he,  accustomed  to  see  women 
betray  the  weakness  of  their  defence, 
scanned  each  line  of  her  face,  seeking  in 
vain  for  that  which  lay  everywhere  and  yet 
escaped  detection. 

Filled  with  resentment  at  her  apparent 
indifference,  he  longed  to  have  the  power 
to  wound  her.  A  moment  before  he  could 
have  sworn  that  she  was  his  to  do  what 
he  liked  with ;  now,  even  while  his  anger 
quickened,  she  suddenly  smiled.  Ben  Lu- 
pin drew  back  a  pace,  much  as  if  he  had 
been  struck,  and  his  dark  gipsy  skin  whit- 
ened beneath  its  coating  of  tan.  He  had 
followed  the  girl  from  a  spirit  of  mischiev- 
ous devilry,  not  meaning  to  hurt  her  be- 


30  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

yond  the  stealing  of  a  few  kisses  from  a  pair 
of  pretty  lips ;  but  now  the  resentful  anger 
of  a  moment  past  stiffened  suddenly  into  a 
dangerous  weapon  of  offence,  the  man  be- 
hind it  growing  cool  and  alert,  ready  to 
wield  it  with  an  unsparing  hand.  A  shiver 
of  expectation  passed  from  him  to  her,  set- 
ting the  veil  she  had  raised  between  them 
a-tremble,  and  after  fluttering  a  moment  it 
fell,  revealing  to  his  astonished  gaze  the 
whole  surface  of  her  fear.  He  drew  closer, 
and  doing  so,  felt  his  inner  self  creep  out 
and  play  with  hers  as  a  cat  might  with  a 
mouse. 

"Luce,"  he  exclaimed,  "did  'ee  mind  on 
me  when  I  wor  away  ?  " 

Her  lips  trembled  faintly,  but  she  made 
no  answer. 

"  You  jest  flowered  into  yourself,  I  reckon, 
and  paid  no  heed  to  t'other  folk."  His 
voice,  in  speaking,  was  singularly  rich  and 
beautiful ;  listening  to  it  the  girl  burst  into  a 
storm  of  sobs.  Unresisted,  he  wound  his 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  31 

arm  round  her,  tilting  back  her  head  and 
looking  into  her  brown  tear-filled  eyes. 
Slowly  the  soft  warmth  of  her  body  pene- 
trated his,  and  the  desire  came  to  him  to  let 
his  hand  slip  over  the  trembling  little  form 
so  that  it  should  perforce  reveal  itself  to  his 
touch ;  but  the  power  to  do  so  failed  him, 
and  he  stood  and  wondered  at  his  helpless- 
ness. The  moon  rose  high  in  the  heavens, 
and  the  clean  salt-laden  breeze  blew  up  from 
the  sea,  setting  the  branches  of  the  beeches 
sawing  one  against  the  other.  Slowly,  al- 
most tentatively,  Lupin's  hold  relapsed,  and 
the  girl  feeling  herself  free,  looked  at  him  a 
moment  in  startled  surprise,  and  then,  bound- 
ing away,  fled  homewards.  He  flung  him- 
self upon  the  ground,  covering  his  ears  with 
his  hand  as  if  he  would  shut  out  the  sound 
of  her  small  feet  upon  the  stones ;  but  long 
after  the  echo  had  died,  it  still  seemed  to 
beat  on  in  his  brain.  A  horrid  suspicion 
haunted  him  lest  he  had  been  weak ;  weak- 
ness, of  all  things,  was  that  which  he  despised 


32  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

most.  He  thought  of  running  after  her  and 
taking  a  quick  revenge  on  himself  and  her, 
and  half  rose  to  his  feet,  only  to  sink  back 
once  more  baffled  and  inert. 

Luce  did  not  stay  her  course  till  she 
reached  home.  Pushing  open  the  cottage 
door,  she  found  her  father  seated  before  the 
fire,  smoking,  his  hat  on  a  chair  by  his  side, 
a  red  cotton  handkerchief  curled  up  in  the 
crown.  John  Myrtle  never  hung  up  his  hat 
when  he  entered  a  house,  but  placed  it  either 
on  the  floor  between  his  feet,  or  else  dose  at 
hand  on  the  nearest  chair.  This  habit  was  a 
constant  source  of  annoyance  to  his  wife, 
being,  as  she  said,  "  poor-minded  and  mean- 
ful  of  nought,"  and  John,  who  was  a  good- 
natured  man,  would  gladly  have  broken  with 
it,  had  he  not  been  too  slow  to  part  with  a 
custom  once  acquired.  He  glanced  up  at 
Luce's  entrance  and  removed  his  pipe. 

"  Your  mother's  up  to  bed  this  half-hour 
and  more,"  he  said. 

The  girl  made  no  answer,  but,  putting  off 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  33 

her  shawl,  came  and  knelt  beside  him,  and 
John  Myrtle,  after  letting  his  right  arm  slip 
round  her,  returned  his  pipe  to  his  mouth 
and  smoked  placidly  on.  There  was  silence 
in  the  room  except  for  the  faint  nibbling  of 
a  mouse  behind  the  boards  and  the  tick  tick 
of  the  clock.  At  last  Luce  spoke. 

"  Fether,"  she  said,  "  I  do  veel  ez  if  I  shud 
niver  marry,  but  jest  bide  home  here  along 
wi'  'ee  and  mother." 

"  Why,"  he  asked,  "  have  you  and  Mark 
had  wuds  I  " 

"  No,  'tiddn't  thic,  on'y  I'd  a  deal  rather 
bide  quiet  wi'  'ee." 

John  Myrtle  changed  the  pipe  to  the 
other  side  of  his  mouth  before  answering. 
"  You'll  think  different  when  the  time  comes," 
he  said.  "  'Tis  the  way  o'  a  maid  to  veel 
shy  o'  loving  vust  a-long." 

She  dropped  her  head  on  his  knee  and 
began  to  sob.  "  I  do  love  'ee,  fether,  a  deal 
more'n  I  do  Mark,  I  do,  fether,  I  do." 

But   Myrtle   was    not   to    be   persuaded. 


34  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

"  'Tiddn't  nought  but  the  maiden  in  'ee  that 
makes  'ee  reckon  that,"  he  returned,  and 
Luce  ceased  to  argue. 

"Take  me  up  in  your  arms,  fether,  zame 
ez  you  do-ed  many  a  time  when  I  wor  a 
chile,"  she  said. 

He  did  as  she  bade  him,  and  after  a  while, 
tired  out  by  emotion,  she  dropped  off  to 
sleep ;  then  John  Myrtle  rose,  and  climbing 
the  stairs,  laid  the  little  frail  figure  upon 
the  bed. 

"  Her  iddn't  much  more'n  a  sprig  o'  a  chile 
now,"  he  exclaimed,  going  out  and  softly 
closing  the  door. 

Long  afterwards  she  awoke  with  a  start. 
Below,  in  the  street,  a  man  was  whistling ; 
the  notes  thrust  themselves  upon  her,  chal- 
lenging her  to  heed. 

She  put  out  her  hands  imploringly. — 
"  Don't  call  me,  Ben  ;  don't  call  me  or  I'll  be 
fo'ced  to  valler,"  she  cried. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DURING  the  next  few  days  Lupin,  who  all 
his  life  had  been  quick  to  act,  fell  into  a  fit 
of  indecision.  His  desire  to  punish  Luce 
thrived,  but  growing  along  with  it  was  an 
increasing  respect  for  the  girl.  Hitherto  this 
quality  had  been  singularly  absent  from  his 
relationships  with  women,  and  Ben  Lupin 
found  its  presence  perturbing,  for  while  it 
added  new  flavour  to  the  pursuit,  it  en- 
gendered a  fear  lest  in  the  further  contact 
with  Luce  he  should  discover  some  strange, 
unsuspected  weakness  in  himself.  The  sud- 
den drain  on  his  assurance  left  the  channel 
of  conceit  gaping  and  dry,  and  filled  him 
with  a  thirst  for  self-applause.  There  were 
moments,  too,  when  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  was  making  a  strange  fuss  over  a  small 
concern,  and  that  he  had  only  to  meet  her 

85 


36  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

again  to  find  her  much  as  other  women.  The 
suspicion  half  irritated,  half  pleased  him ; 
but  for  some  reason  he  avoided  analysing  it, 
and  he  did  not  seek  Luce  out. 

When  Sunday  came,  however,  and  the 
bells  rang  for  morning  service,  he  slipped 
quietly  into  the  old  grey  stone  church,  and 
sat  down  where  he  could  see  without  being 
seen.  He  was  barefooted,  and  wore  the 
same  shabby  clothes  that  had  excited  Mark's 
contempt ;  but  it  was  no  false  shame  on  the 
score  of  dress  which  made  him  wish  to  avoid 
observation.  His  heavy  black  brows  drew 
together  as  he  glanced  about  him  ;  only  once 
during  the  last  five  years  had  he  been  inside 
a  church,  and  the  recalling  of  that  occasion 
gave  him  scant  cause  for  amusement.  Slowly 
the  congregation  filed  in ;  and,  Lupin's  eyes 
falling  on  the  tall,  high-shouldered  figure  of 
Mark  Tavy,  dismissed  it  with  a  brief  glance 
of  contempt.  Flushed  and  erect,  the  young 
fisherman  moved  up  the  aisle  and  sat  down 
in  the  corner  of  the  Myrtles'  pew.  Seeing 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  37 

him  there,  Constable  Garge  leant  across  from 
his  seat  opposite,  and  exclaimed  in  a  loud 
whisper : 

"  I've  come  to  hear  'ee  called,  the  zame  ez 
I  zed  I  wild." 

Lupin  caught  the  words,  and  glanced 
round,  wondering  with  vague  amusement 
which  of  the  women  present  had  been  silly 
enough  to  set  her  affections  on  so  poor  a 
creature.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to 
regard  Mark  seriously;  for  him  he  was  a 
young,  excitable  fool,  forever  reaching  up 
at  what  lay  beyond  his  stretch — a  man, 
Lupin  held,  should  be  a  better  judge  of 
distances.  Mark,  however,  sitting  bolt  up- 
right with  the  sun  full  on  him,  felt  that  he 
had  not  only  struck  out  for,  but  reached,  his 
goal.  He  was  serenely  happy,  the  memory 
of  his  many  failures  passed  from  him,  he 
weltered  in  success  as  only  he  to  whom  it 
seldom  falls,  can. 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  Myrtles  entered, 
but  without  Luce;  just  at  the  last  she 


38  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

had  refused  to  coine.  Mark  gulped  down 
his  disappointment ;  he  had  looked  forward 
to  watching  the  colour  steal  up  in  her 
face  when  their  names  were  read  out  in 
the  rector's  deep  chest  tones,  for  the  Rev. 
Benjamin  Baugh  had  a  way  of  reading  the 
banns  that  made  a  man  feel  there  was  to  be 
no  drawing  back,  and  villagers  of  a  less  de- 
cided turn  of  mind  preferred  on  that  account 
to  be  "  put  up  by  the  currit."  Lupin  rose 
at  the  Myrtles'  entrance,  and  stood,  half 
hidden  by  a  pillar,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
door.  The  service  began;  he  paid  no  heed 
to  it,  or  to  the  curious  glances  that  from 
time  to  time  were  cast  in  his  direction.  As 
the  moments  passed  and  it  became  more  and 
more  apparent  that  those  who  intended  being 
present  had  already  arrived,  his  brows  creased 
together,  and  his  small  black  eyes  shone  fierce- 
ly impatient.  There  was  a  slight  pause, 
while  the  rector  shuffled  among  the  worn 
leather-covered  books  for  the  names  of  the 
couples  desirous  of  so  publicly  asserting  their 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  39 

intention  of  being  united.  Jarred  by  the 
sudden  silence,  Lupin  glanced  round,  his 
eyes  falling  on  Mark  sitting  up  stiff,  straight 
and  red  as  the  hollyhocks  beside  the  White 
Cottage  door.  A  feeling  almost  akin  to 
sympathy  stirred  for  a  moment  in  Ben  Lup- 
in's heart,  which  the  next  was  swept  clear 
of  all  emotion  but  that  of  relief.  The  rec- 
tor read  the  banns,  closed  the  book,  and  the 
congregation  fell  to  thinking  of  other  things. 
Lupin  stole  out  again  into  the  warm  summer 
air.  A  joyous  elation  possessed  him;  he 
knew  his  own  mind  at  last,  and  saw  straight 
as  a  shaft  of  light  the  way  that  led  to  his 
desire.  Hurrying  up  the  steep  road,  his 
shoeless  feet  making  no  sound  on  the  cobble- 
stones, he  came  to  the  Myrtles'  cottage.  It 
stood  a  little  back  from  the  main  street, 
while  from  behind  a  small  garden  struck 
out,  parallel  to  and  overlooking  the  lane. 
Lupin  climbed  the  flight  of  steps  leading  to 
the  wicket  gate,  and  doing  so  his  eyes  fell 
on  Luce  seated  beneath  a  willow  tree.  The 


40  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

branches  stirred  by  the  breeze  threw  a  regi- 
ment of  faint  shadows  upon  her  white  gown 
and  broad-brimmed  hat.  She  was  sunk  in 
thought.  Unmarked,  he  drew  nearer,  till  he 
could  almost  count  the  fine  gold  hairs  lying 
along  the  nape  of  her  neck.  A  sudden  fear, 
a  sudden  distrust  of  himself  and  his  brutal 
needs,  thrilled  him.  Unconsciously,  he  raised 
his  hand  and  uncovered  before  her:  and 
standing  there  bare-headed,  silent  and  in- 
animate as  a  stone,  his  presence  became 
known  to  her,  forcing  itself  upon  her  subtly, 
so  that  she  blushed  for  very  shame  at  the 
pleasure  the  knowledge  imparted.  He 
watched  the  colour  thread  the  white  of  her 
neck  till  it  reached  the  outlines  of  the  cheek 
that  was  half  turned  from  him ;  then  he 
drew  close,  and  sank  down  on  the  bench  at 
her  side.  A  great  longing  came  to  him  to 
look  into  her  eyes,  but  a  power  stronger 
than  his  will  bound  him  to  patience.  She 
fell  to  weeping  gently ;  he  made  no  effort 
to  comfort  her,  even  though  one  of  the  tears 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  41 

fell  upon  his  hand  ;  and  after  a  while  he 
rose  and  stole  away,  passing  noiselessly  out 
into  the  sun-scented  air. 

The  next  morning  it  was  reported  in  the 
village  that  a  large  shoal  of  herring  had 
been  sighted  outside  the  bay,  and  Mark, 
together  with  other  fishermen,  sailed  by  the 
afternoon  tide  in  search  of  them.  A  sudden 
gale  springing  up  from  the  north-west  drove 
the  little  fleet  further  down  the  coast,  oblig- 
ing them  to  take  shelter,  and  it  was  not  till 
the  following  Sunday  that  they  bent  slowly 
back  towards  Bere-Upton.  A  faint  sound 
of  church  bells  came  over  the  water  as  the 
boats  tacked  across  the  bay,  and  Mark,  hear- 
ing it,  glanced  instinctively  in  the  direction 
of  the  White  Cottage.  The  sight  recalled 
Lupin  to  his  mind  and  he  fell  into  a  fit  of 
bitter  musing.  When  his  boat  anchored 
alongside  the  quay,  and  he  ran  quickly  up 
the  steps,  a  group  of  fishermen  who  were 
lounging  near,  broke  into  a  subdued  laugh, 
which  was  suddenly  hushed  as  they  saw  Ben 


42  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

Lupin  picking  his  way  across  the  ropes 
towards  them. 

"  I've  got  sommat  to  say  to  'ee,"  he  ex- 
claimed, halting  opposite  Mark.  "  Come  up 
yonder  where  us  can  have  speech  by  our- 
selves." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  the  group 
of  fishermen  edged  nearer.  A  sudden  dread 
entered  Mark's  heart. 

"  Say  what  you  have  got  to  say  and  have 
done  wi'  it,"  he  answered. 

But  Ben  had  already  turned  and  was 
walking  away  with  rapid  steps.  Mark 
watched  him  cross  the  quay,  and  then, 
hardly  conscious  of  what  he  did,  followed  in 
pursuit. 

"  Hivers !  "  exclaimed  one  of  the  fisher 
lads,  "  shall  us  go  after  and  zee  the  fun  ? " 

"  Na,  na,"  replied  a  grey-haired  man,  "  let 
'em  fight  it  out  alone,. happen  they'll  be  the 
sooner  friendsome." 

Three  small  bare-legged  boys,  however, 
slipped  down  from  the  wall  where  they  had 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  43 

been  seated  and  ran  after  Mark ;  other  ur- 
chins joined  them,  and  the  young  fisherman 
could  hear  their  short,  quick  breathing,  and 
the  pattering  of  their  footsteps  behind  him. 
Leaving  the  main  street,  Lupin  had  entered 
the  lane  leading  upwards  to  the  White  Cot- 
tage. At  the  gate  he  stopped  and  waited 
for  Mark  to  approach. 

"Go  in  to  her,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
cottage.  "  Maybe  her  can  tell  'ee  better'n  I 
can  how  things  was  brought  about." 

Pushing  open  the  door,  Mark  entered. 

In  the  corner  of  the  kitchen,  her  arms 
folded  on  a  small  table  and  her  face  pressed 
down  upon  them,  sat  Luce.  He  looked  at 
her  in  silence,  and  the  only  sound  in  the 
room  was  the  dulled,  tearless  sobbing  that 
broke  from  her  lips.  At  last  he  drew 
closer.  "  What  be  'ee  doing  here,  Luce  ?  " 
he  asked.  She  did  not  answer.  Putting 
out  a  trembling  hand  he  touched  her,  and 
she  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him.  It 
seemed  to  Mark  standing  there  that  his  heart 


44  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

was  being  drawn  from  his  breast,  and  peeled 
piece  by  piece  as  a  boy  peels  a  willow  twig. 

"  I  wud  ha'  been  true  to  ?ee,"  she  ex- 
claimed at  last  in  a  broken  voice.  "  I  want- 
ed to  be  true  to  'ee;  but,  lad,  I  jest  worn't." 

He  turned  away,  the  pain  of  her  words 
was  unbearable. 

"  I  reckoned,"  he  said,  "  that  you  was  the 
wan  pussen  in  the  whole  world  that  sort  o' 
understood  things."  Then  he  went  out, 
shutting  the  door  after  him.  The  sun  shone 
full  on  his  white,  haggard  face  as  he  reeled 
down  the  pathway  and  confronted  Lupin. 
Ben  drew  back  with  an  unconscious  respect 
for  his  enemy's  grief ;  but  Mark  would  not 
be  avoided. 

"Be  you  married  honest?"  he  asked,  turn* 
ing  on  him. 

"  Us  was  special  licensed." 

"  You  blackguardly  thief !  " 

"Vule,"  Lupin  burst  out,  his  temper  ris- 
ing. "  I  didn't  steal  the  maid ;  her  was 
never  yours." 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  45 

Mark  drew  his  knife.  "  You  shan't  have 
her,  nuther,"  he  cried,  rushing  forward;  but 
before  he  could  deliver  the  blow  Ben  struck 
him  under  the  chin  with  terrific  force,  his 
jaw  and  skull  seemed  to  crush  together  and 
saw  into  his  brain,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground, 
stunned.  Lupin  went  back  to  the  cottage, 
shutting  the  door.  A  row  of  bare-legged 
boys  seated  on  the  fence  near  stared  down 
on  Mark's  prostrate  figure  with  feelings  of 
mingled  awe,  self-importance,  and  delight, 
then  one  by  one  they  slid  from  their  perch 
and  trotted  back  home.  Soon  the  village 
was  roused  by  the  news  that  Mark  had  been 
killed  in  a  fight,  and,  headed  by  Septimus 
Spong,  they  came  hurrying  up  to  view  the 
body.  On  reaching  the  spot  where  the  mur- 
der had  taken  place  they  found  nothing  but 
a  stone  covered  with  blood ;  the  corpse  had 
disappeared.  Spong  at  once  addressed  the 
crowd :  "  In  there,"  he  said,  pointing  at  the 
little  white-washed  cottage,  "ruckying  be- 
hind some  bed,  was  the  murderer,  red-handed 


46  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

from  the  deed,  and  it  was  the  dooty  of  the 
young  and  active-limbed  to  go  in  and  fetch 
un  out.  He  called  on  'em,"  he  continued, 
"as  postman,  and  representative  of  the 
State." 

No  one  stirred.  "  It  was,"  they  answered, 
"  the  law's  business,  not  theirs ;  and  if  Septi- 
mus Spong  chose  to  represent  the  State,  he 
had  better  go  in  and  bring  the  murderer  out 
himself." 

At  this  last  suggestion  there  was  an  awk- 
ward pause,  broken  by  a  very  little  boy,  who 
came  forward  and  said :  "  Mark  worn't  no- 
ways dead,  but  had  got  up  and  hiked  away." 

The  information  seemed  to  fill  the  crowd 
with  both  relief  and  resentment.  Mark 
Tavy,  they  agreed,  was  a  poor  worm,  and  if 
there  was  one  thing  more  sure  than  another 
'twas  he  had  got  his  deserts,  and  still  talk- 
ing of  him  they  returned  once  more  to  the 
village. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IT  was  a  favourite  maxim  of  Mrs.  Myrtle's, 
that  he  who  sets  out  to  condescend  had  best 
be  sure  of  his  return  fare  before  starting. 
She  was  an  authority  on  such  matters,  hav- 
ing more  than  once  made  the  journey  herself. 
To  go  no  further  back  than  her  marriage,  a 
bold  piece  of  mating,  for  John  Myrtle  had 
been  born  between  parish  sheets  and  reared 
on  parish  bread,  yet  union  with  him  had 
never  caused  her  rich  yeoman  blood  to  run 
the  thinner.  She  held  her  head  high  ;  not,  it 
is  true,  attempting  to  tilt  her  husband's  up  to 
the  same  level,  but  resting  content  with  the 
knowledge  that  the  distance  between  them 
had  never  been  lessened  by  any  bending  on 
her  part.  Success,  however,  does  not  always 
beget  a  desire  to  encourage  others,  and  imi- 
tation is  apt  to  be  held  to  be  presumptuous 

47 


48  THE    WHITE  COTTAGE 

as  often  as  flattering.  So  when  Luce,  in  pre- 
ference to  the  highly  respectable  Mark  Tavy, 
suddenly  united  herself  with  Lupin,  Mrs. 
Myrtle  took  but  a  gloomy  view  of  the  affair. 
Indeed,  she  was  inclined  to  resent  Luce's 
behaviour.  If  a  mother  casts  aside  shoes,  it 
by  no  means  follows  that  a  daughter  can 
afford  to  walk  without  boots ;  and  in  the 
privacy  of  her  own  mind  Mrs.  Myrtle  num- 
bered Luce  among  those  who  had  best  let 
such  trapesing  alone.  In  coming  to  this 
conclusion  she  had  no  wish  to  disparage  her 
daughter. 

After  her  cold,  limited  fashion,  she  was 
fond  of  Luce ;  but  she  was  a  proud  woman 
— proud  of  the  respect  in  which,  in  spite 
of  marriage  with  a  man  beneath  her,  she 
was  still  held — and  the  fear  haunted  her 
lest  Luce,  in  a  not  unsimilar  position,  should 
fail  to  exact  a  like  esteem,  and  prove  in 
some  roundabout  way  that  the  union  be- 
tween her  father  and  mother  had  been  mis- 
judged. Mark  had  always  been  somewhat 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  49 

of  a  favourite  with  her,  "a  well-conducted 
young  man,  more  creditable  than  credit-get- 
ting." On  being  told  of  the  scuffle  that  had 
taken  place  between  him  and  Lupin,  she 
made  no  comment ;  but  when  later  the  same 
day  Mark,  bundle  in  hand,  passed  her  door, 
she  called  to  him  to  come  in.  He  complied 
unwillingly  enough,  and  refusing  to  take  a 
seat,  stood  close  to  the  door,  his  face  expres- 
sive both  of  irritation  and  impatience.  The 
little  room  was  vivid  to  him  with  the  pres- 
ence of  Luce,  he  longed  to  be  out  of  it ;  but 
Mrs.  Myrtle,  eyeing  him  over,  saw  that  he 
had  on  his  second-best  suit  and  a  pair  of 
well-blacked  shiny  boots,  and  realized  afresh 
that  here  at  least  was  a  man  who  might  have 
been  trusted  with  the  honour  of  the  Myrtles. 
She  was  a  small,  neutral-tinted  woman  with 
a  narrow  forehead  and  high  cheek-bones. 
Glancing  from  him  to  the  little  bundle 
under  his  arm  she  nodded  approvingly ;  she 
guessed  it  contained  the  clothes  bought 
especially  for  his  wedding. 


50  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

"  That's  your  new  shiny  suit  you've  got  in 
there,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  shortly. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you're  taking  it  'long 
with  you." 

He  frowned  but  made  no  comment. 

"  What  have  you  done  wi'  the  boat  ? "  she 
asked  after  a  pause,  picking  up  some  needle- 
work from  the  table  and  commencing  to 
sew. 

"  Sold  her  to  Ned  Lewis." 

"Well?" 

"  For  a  fair  price." 

Again  she  nodded  approvingly.  "I'm 
sorry  things  have  fallen  out  as  they  have 
between  you  and  Luce,"  she  said. 

He  turned  away.  "  I  reckon  I  must  be  on 
the  move." 

"  Oh  !  bide  a  moment,  and  take  a  seat,  like 
a  reasonable  lad,"  she  exclaimed,  pushing  a 
chair  towards  him.  "  You  haven't  told  me 
half  I  want  to  know.  What  about  the  nets  ? 
Did  you  part  wi'  they  too  ? " 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  51 

u  Sold  'em  to  the  same  man." 

"Well?" 

"  Yes,  middling  well." 

"  Ah !  "  she  exclaimed,  biting  off  the  end  of 
her  thread  with  a  sharp  snap,  "you  would 
have  made  a  dependable  husband." 

His  thin,  emotional  face  flushed  hotly. 
"  You  mustn't  reckon  I'm  gwaying  away 
beat,"  he  said  with  sudden  passion.  "  Lupin 
ain't  seen  the  last  of  me  yet  by  a  long  bit — 
there's  zommat  that  tells  me  that  if  I  hold 
myzulf  to  patience,  the  Almighty  'ull  show 
me  how  to  get  quits  wi'  un." 

An  expression  of  uneasiness  came  into  the 
old  woman's  eyes. 

"  I've  no  opinion  o'  the  high  falutin',"  she 
answered.  "That  what  a  man  can't  get 
iddn't  meant  for  him,  and  you'll  be  wise  if 
you  let  Ben  Lupin  alone  in  the  future." 

"  Do  you  reckon  the  Almighty  is  gwaying 
to  let  'un  alone  ? "  he  burst  out.  "  Do  you 
reckon  that  God  is  always  gwaying  to  zee 
the  wicked  flourish  at  the  expense  o'  the 


62  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

well-doer?  No,  I  tull  'ee,  there  be  ill  days 
in  store  for  Ben  Lupin,  and  when  they  are  at 
hand  I  shan't  be  far  from  un." 

The  colour  rose  in  Mrs.  Myrtle's  face, 
turning  it  a  sort  of  drabby  red. 

"  All  I  can  say,"  she  exclaimed  sharply, 
"is  that  I  hope  it  will  be  a  long  day  before 
he  sets  eyes  on  'ee  then." 

"  Well  for  un  if  it  be,"  Mark  answered, 
and,  picking  up  his  bundle,  went  out,  shut- 
ting the  door  after  him. 

Mark  walked  to  the  nearest  seaport  town 
and  sailed  two  days  later  in  a  barque  bound 
for  Nova  Scotia.  He  did  not  mix  with  the 
other  hands,  but  when  off  duty,  sat  apart, 
brooding  over  his  wrongs.  From  time  to 
time  he  would  take  his  Bible  from  his 
pocket,  and  opening  it  at  the  llth  chapter 
of  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  read  over 
again  the  lines,  "  Vengeance  is  Mine ;  I  will 
repay,  saith  the  Lord,"  and  the  words 
seemed  to  him  an  especial  promise  on  the 
part  of  God  to  execute  judgment  on  Ben 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  63 

Lupin.  Then  one  day  a  sudden  fear  stole 
into  his  heart  lest  he  had  delayed  too  long 
and  that  his  enemy  had  already  fallen  before 
the  vengeance  of  God. 

Winter  was  thawing  towards  spring  when 
he  reached  England  and  turned  his  face  in 
the  direction  of  his  native  village.  The  sap 
had  risen  high  in  the  trees  and  the  buds  were 
swollen  and  pink  with  the  juice  of  life.  Mark 
pressed  forward ;  the  air,  full  of  vitality, 
tasted  fresh  and  cold  upon  his  lips  as  water 
from  a  well.  Dusk  gathered,  slowly  greying 
the  fields  and  blurring  their  outlines.  One  by 
one  he  passed  the  familiar  land-marks  till  at 
length  his  eyes  rested  on  the  White  Cottage. 
At  the  sight  of  it  a  feeling  of  loneliness  came 
to  him,  and  he  felt  as  an  outcast  gazing 
across  wide  dividing  seas  towards  his  native 
land.  He  flung  himself  down  on  the  ground 
and  sobbed  :  the  thought  of  God's  impend- 
ing vengeance  failed  to  comfort  him ;  it 
seemed  but  of  scant  account  compared  with 
what  he  had  lost.  Rising  after  a  while  he 


64  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

stole  noiselessly  forward,  pushed  open  the 
garden  gate  and  creeping  in  hid  behind  a 
juniper  bush  that  grew  near  the  open  win- 
dow. The  firelight  fell  full  on  Lupin's  face 
as  he  bent  over  the  model  of  a  ship  he  was 
rigging,  and  opposite  him  sat  Luce;  the 
needlework  had  slipped  from  her  hands  and 
lay  unheeded  on  her  lap.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  gathering  dusk,  but  to  Mark  it 
was  as  if  she  was  looking  at  him.  The 
nerves  of  his  body  twanged  together  and 
seemed  to  make  vocal  the  aching  of  his 
heart.  Watching,  he  saw  the  tears  slowly 
gather  and  fall  one  by  one  upon  her  work, 
and  yet  he  was  not  deceived,  he  knew  they 
were  tears  of  happiness. 

Ben  looked  up.     "  Sweetheart !  "  he  said. 

Rising  from  her  seat  she  knelt  beside  him, 
and  he  put  his  arm  round  her.  **  What  be 
it  ? "  he  asked  tenderly. 

She  made  no  immediate  answer,  but  hid 
her  face  against  his  coat. 

"  The  world  zims  so  'mazing  full  o'  life," 
she  exclaimed  at  last. 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  65 

Lupin  smiled.  "I  don't  understand  'ee, 
little  'un,"  he  said. 

She  caressed  his  face  with  her  hands. 
"  Do  'ee  reckon  that  there  be  thic  that  cud 
draw  us  nearer  one  to  t'other  ? "  she  asked 
softly. 

"Na,"  replied  Ben  in  a  surprised  voice, 
"  na-ways  'tall." 

She  burst  into  a  little  happy  laugh.  "But 
there  will  be  sich  a  wan." 

"  I've  niver  heard  tell  o'  un  then,"  Lupin 
answered. 

"Oh,  can't  'ee  reckon  who  he  is?"  she 
asked  tremulously. 

Bending  forward,  Lupin  drew  her  up  close 
to  his  breast.  "  Tiddn't  no  ways  our  son  ? " 
he  whispered. 

She  did  not  answer,  nor  did  he  need  a 
reply  in  words,  her  body  clinging  to  his, 
throbbed  out  the  story  of  its  own  joy.  Then 
did  the  thought  of  God's  vengeance  fill  Mark 
with  derision.  He  rushed  away  and  the 
hills  rang  with  his  laughter. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  dawn  threaded  its  way  through 
the  darkness,  and  the  great  sun  swung  sheer 
up  above  the  hills,  Mark,  who  had  wandered 
all  night  in  the  fields,  found  himself  near  the 
farm  of  his  cousin,  Samuel  Bompas.  The 
house  was  visible  between  the  trees,  smoke 
creeping  through  the  branches  skyward. 
Rooks  flew  towards  the  arable  land,  and  in 
the  meadows  the  cows  awaited  the  herdsman 
and  his  clattering  pails.  Mark  threw  him- 
self upon  the  grass,  and  the  smell  of  it  was 
sweet  to  his  nostrils ;  lonely  and  miserable, 
he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  the  earth  as  to  a 
friend.  Stamped  upon  his  brain,  compelling 
him  to  gaze  upon  it,  was  the  picture  of  Luce 
kneeling  at  her  husband's  feet,  her  face 
pressed  against  his  breast,  while  she  told  him 
of  the  other  one  who  should  come  to  bind 

56 


THE  WHITE   COTTAGE  67 

them  in  yet  closer  union.  Mark  beat  his 
head  against  the  ground  to  rid  himself  of 
the  intolerable  vision,  but  it  would  not  be 
put  to  flight.  He  covered  his  ears  with  his 
hands  to  shut  out  Luce's  voice,  but  he  still 
heard  her  questioning  Lupin :  "  Do  'ee 
reckon  there  be  thic  that  cud  draw  us  closer 
wan  to  t'other  ?  There  will  be  sich  a  wan." 
By  what  right  had  Lupin  torn  fatherhood 
from  him?  It  seemed  as  if  the  gaping 
wound  of  his  nature  could  never  be  healed. 
His  virility  rose  in  rebellion  against  the 
existence  of  this  yet  unborn  child — the  child 
that  should  have  been  his  own,  and  was 
Lupin's.  How  often  had  he  not  dreamed  of 
the  child,  felt  its  soft  kisses  upon  his  face  in 
sleep,  the  tiny  hands  playing  with  his  beard. 
It  could  not  be  that  Luce  should  bear  it  to 
another,  and  that  other  his  enemy.  Yes, 
she  would  bear  Lupin's  son,  she  longed 
to  bear  him,  for  she  loved  Lupin.  Mark 
raised  his  face  wet  with  dew  and  tears  to 
heaven.  "O  God,"  he  said,  "'tiddn't  true 


68  THE  WHITE   COTTAGE 

her  loves  un.  O  God  Almighty,  not  that, 
not  that ! " 

The  trees,  rubbing  their  branches  one 
against  the  other,  sent  down  a  murmur  of 
soft  noises  to  him.  High  overhead  sounded 
the  note  of  the  cuckoo;  as  if  set  rocking 
by  the  breeze,  the  other  birds,  their  first 
triumphant  burst  of  song  spent,  rushed  out 
their  notes  less  hurriedly,  yet  with  such  a 
careless  improvidence  of  sound  that  Mark, 
who  had  sunk  back  once  more  upon  the 
grass,  listened  to  them  in  unconscious  grati- 
tude. A  feeling  of  rest  stole  over  him,  and 

O  ' 

his  brain,  torn  with  thought,  healed  itself  in 
sleep.  How  long  he  slept  he  knew  not,  but, 
when  he  awoke  later,  Samuel  Bompas  stood 
beside  him,  his  broad,  kindly  face  expressing 
much  concern.  News  travelled  slowly,  and 
the  full  account  of  Mark's  troubles  had  not 
long  reached  the  farm.  Samuel  Bompas  had 
not  been  surprised,  nothing  women  did  had 
ever  been  known  to  surprise  him :  "  for 
knowing  her  own  mind  and  sticking  to  it " 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  59 

his  old  sow  would  beat  'em  hollow.  "  The 
skin  of  a  sex,"  he  called  them,  "  hastily  made 
and  ill-considered  at  that." 

The  two  cousins  entered  the  house  to- 
gether. The  big,  unpretentious  kitchen,  with 
its  air  of  homely  comfort  and  hospitality, 
seemed  to  bid  Mark  welcome,  and  yet  to 
make  no  undue  fuss  over  his  arrival.  Bom- 
pas  glanced  at  the  young  fellow's  haggard 
face  with  renewed  concern,  but  made  no 
comment.  A  fine  sizzling  sound  came  from 
the  back  kitchen,  and  the  dogs  cocked  their 
noses  toward  the  door,  curious  and  expect- 
ant. Mark,  whose  head  had  sunk  upon  his 
chest,  suddenly  looked  up,  feeling  hungry; 
his  cousin,  noting  the  movement,  smiled. 

"  Draw  up  your  chair,"  he  exclaimed, 
"there's  nought  like  victuals  for  sprying  a 
man  on  to  finding  himself." 

The  young  fellow  did  as  he  was  bid,  sur- 
prised at  the  vigour  with  which  he  attacked 
the  food,  and  the  satisfaction  that  the  mere 
act  of  eating  gave  to  him.  It  seemed  to  him 


60  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

a  paltry  kind  of  comfort  for  an  aching  heart, 
and  yet  he  felt  less  miserable  than  he  had  on 
entering.  Well,  if  bacon  and  fried  potatoes 
could  cure  him  of  his  trouble,  so  much  the 
better,  and  he  pushed  out  his  plate  for  a 
second  help.  The  meal  over,  Mark  drew 
close  to  the  fire  and  fell  into  a  doze,  and  the 
farmer  went  out  and  left  him.  A  bumble- 
bee flew  in  through  the  open  window  and 
droned  its  way  through  the  silence  which 
had  descended  on  the  big  kitchen,  alighting 
on  the  copper  pans  that  glowed  in  rows 
along  the  walls.  Mark's  sleep  deepened,  a 
faint  scent  of  thyme  filled  the  room,  and  he 
dreamed  that  he  was  a  child  again,  and  lay 
on  the  floor  of  his  mother's  cottage,  counting 
the  bags  of  herbs  which  hung  beside  the  tall 
dresser.  He  thought  that  it  was  night,  and 
that  he  could  hear  the  scream  of  the  wild 
geese  flying  inland ;  and,  still  sleeping,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  rose  and  stole  out, 
but  he  was  not  alone,  for  Luce  was  with  him. 
Together  they  climbed  the  hill  till  they 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  61 

came  to  the  high  lands,  where,  at  fall  of 
dusk,  the  pixies  sport.  The  moon  was  big 
and  swollen,  so  that  strange  things,  other 
than  pixies,  might  well  be  abroad ;  and  when 
the  two  children  reached  the  edge  of  a  great 
wind-swept  plain,  they  halted  to  turn  their 
pockets  inside  out,  for  on  him  who  torn-fools 
his  pockets  a  pixie  has  no  power.  By  some 
dire  ill-luck,  Mark's  pockets  had  been  sewn 
up,  and  as  for  Luce,  she  was  so  small,  her 
dress  did  not  grow  a  pocket.  The  agony  of 
the  moment  was  such  that  Mark's  dream 
changed,  and,  in  a  flash,  he  had  aged  by 
several  years,  and  found  himself  a  man.  He 
still  stood  looking  across  the  wind-swept 
plain,  but  Luce  was  no  longer  by  his  side, 
and  his  heart  was  heavy,  so  that  he  wept 
even  in  his  sleep.  When  he  had  gazed  a 
long  time  across  the  plain,  he  saw  before  him 
a  blood-red  flower  of  such  exceeding  beauty, 
that  he  drew  nearer  to  pick  it.  A  sudden 
fear  fell  on  him,  for  he  knew,  though  none 
had  said  so,  that  the  flower  was  the  ven- 


62  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  ^ 

geance  of  God.  Great  as  was  his  fear,  even 
as  great  was  his  desire  to  gain  possession  of 
the  flower.  But  when  he  put  out  his  hand  it 
was  thrust  back  on  him  wounded  and  bleed- 
ing. Again  and  again  he  tried  and  failed, 
and  still  trying,  awoke.  The  bee  had  found 
its  way  out  through  the  open  window,  and 
the  kitchen  was  more  silent  than  ever,  but 
standing  in  the  doorway  was  the  tall  figure 
of  a  woman.  Her  hair  was  grizzled,  the 
face,  worn  and  lined,  had  yet  that  about  it 
which  bespoke  youth  rather  than  age.  It 
seemed  to  Mark,  looking  at  her,  that  never 
had  he  seen  a  face  at  once  so  striking  and  so 
sad ;  but  sleep  still  lay  heavy  about  him,  it 
was  as  if  she  were  part  of  his  dream. 

The  woman  advanced  a  few  steps  nearer. 
"  Can  'ee  tell  me  if  a  man  o'  the  name  o' 
Lupin  lives  anywhere  in  these  parts  ? "  she 
asked. 

Mark  started  upright  in  his  chair.  Dream- 
ing or  awake  he  knew  now  that  she  was  no 
ordinary  woman,  but  the  chosen  instrument 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  63 

of  God's  vengeance.  While  he  still  sought 
for  words  to  answer  her  question,  the  broad 
figure  of  the  old  farmer  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  doorway.  To  Samuel  Bompas'  more 
prosaic  mind  his  visitor  seemed  much  the 
same  as  any  other  female,  and  equally  unwel- 
come. 

"  My  good  woman,"  he  said  shortly,  "  now 
that  you  have  found  your  way  into  the 
house  I  wud  be  much  obliged  if  you  wud  do 
me  the  favour  to  find  your  way  out." 

"I  was  but  axing  a  civil  question,"  she 
replied,  turning  towards  him. 

"  That  I  can  well  believe,"  he  said,  "  for 
the  axing  o'  questions  is  a  woman's  trade. 
But  as  for  me,  I  ain't  no  encourager  o' 
female  cooriosity,  so  I'll  thank  'ee  to  march, 
and  that  sharp." 

The  colour  shot  up  in  the  woman's  pale 
face.  "Axing  a  question  you've  a  right  to 
know  iddn't  curiosity,"  she  answered,  and 
turning,  went  out  as  she  was  bid. 

Mark  gazed  after  the  retreating  figure, 


64  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

while  his  mind,  filled  with  vague  conjectures, 
worked  rapidly.  "  What  do  'ee  reckon  her 
wanted  wi'  Lupin  ? "  he  asked,  turning  his 
eager  eyes  upon  his  cousin. 

The  old  farmer  slowly  scratched  his  head. 
"  Naught  good ;  further  than  that,  not  being 
a  fathomer  o'  females  I  can't  undertake  to 
say,"  he  answered.  "  But  there,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  moment,  in  a  phlegmatic 
voice :  "  Men  the  like  o'  Ben  Lupin  always 
play  up  old  Nick  wi'  the  maidens.  You 
have  lamed  that  to  your  cost.  Happen 
Luce  'ull  have  to  larn  the  same.  Not  that  I 
have  got  aught  personal  agin  the  man,  'tis 
the  way  o'  sich  to  act  lightsome.  Law  jay  ! 
I  don't  jidge.  The  nature  inside  o'  un  forces 


un  on." 


Mark  did  not  reply;  the  scene  he  had 
witnessed  in  the  little  white- washed  cottage 
returned  to  him,  and  he  sat  staring  out  across 
the  fields,  his  heart  full  of  pity  for  the 
woman  he  loved.  Had  she  been  betrayed 
as  he  had  been  betrayed?  Then  his  mood 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  C5 

changed,  a  fierce  triumph  took  possession  of 
him.  It  was  not  his  own  wrongs  he  was 
called  upon  to  avenge,  but  hers.  The 
thought  was  full  of  sweetness,  and  his  face 
lit  up  in  exultation. 

The  farmer  regarded  him  with  a  mystified 
expression.  "  Whativer  be  there  to  make 
so  merry  over  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mark  did  not  stay  to  answer,  but,  rising, 
hurried  out  of  the  house. 

"  Hivers  !  "  exclaimed  his  cousin,  glancing 
after  him,  "  it  takes  a  deal  more  than  a  good 
memory  for  the  old  to  understand  the 
young." 

The  road  to  Bere-Upton  wound  in  and  out 
among  farm  lands,  the  wind  caught  the 
cherry  blossoms,  flinging  them  full  in  his 
face.  Nature,  rejoicing  in  her  vitality, 
seemed  to  call  upon  him  to  assert  his  man- 
hood. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THAT  afternoon,  when  the  grey  mist  drifted 
shore-wards,  Lupin,  a  basket  of  codlin  across 
his  shoulders,  climbed  the  hill  on  his  way  to 
sell  fish.  He  was  bare-footed,  "  his  feet  had 
never  been  christened  wi'  the  rest  o'  un,"  and 
rebelled  against  the  confinement  of  boots. 
Salt  had  dried  in  fine  white  scales  upon  his 
sinewy  legs  and  on  the  trousers  rolled  up  to 
the  knee.  He  whistled  to  himself  as  he 
walked  along;  overhead  the  elms  had  burst 
into  leaf,  in  front  of  him  the  road  stretched 
bare  and  solitary,  except  for  the  figure  of  a 
woman  on  the  horizon.  Twilight  gathering, 
he  hastened  his  pace.  Suddenly  he  ceased  to 
whistle,  and  the  woman,  turning,  came  tow- 
ards him. 

"  I  knowed  'ee  by  that  dreesh1  note  o7 
yourn,"  she  said. 

1  Dreesh— thrush. 
66 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  67 

The  colour  forsook  his  face,  the  lines  stiff- 
ening under  the  pressure  of  emotion. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Ain't  I  said  that  I  have  done  wi'  'ee  ?  " 

"  But  Ben,  I  bain't  the  same  woman  that  I 
was  then." 

"  I  have  done  wi'  'ee,"  he  repeated. 

She  drew  nearer,  her  tall  figure  dwarfed 
him ;  but  when  she  spoke  her  voice  sounded 
tremulous  and  pleading. 

u  I  bain't  no  drunkard  now,"  she  exclaimed 
excitedly.  "  I've  given  it  up,  I've  fought 
agin  it  all  these  ]ong  months.  Times  and 
times  when  the  drink  hunger  was  upon  me 
I've  flung  myself  down  and  gnawed  the  bare 
stones  rather  than  give  way  to  ut." 

Lupin  remained  unmoved.  "  I  have  done 
wi'  'ee,"  he  said. 

A  fruitless  anger  took  possession  of  her. 
"  'Tiddn't  truth  you're  speaking,"  she  cried. 
"  You  can't  cast  me  off  the  same  as  thic." 

"  I  alles  ses  what  I  mean,"  he  answered, 
fixing  his  eyes  on  hers  that  glowed  back  at 


68  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

him  out  of  their  sunken  sockets  like  patches 
of  dark-coloured  fire. 

"  But  Ben,"  she  urged,  "  I  ain't  no  drunk- 
ard now.  'Tis  dree  months  since  a  drop  o' 
spirits  crossed  my  lips." 

He  laughed  harshly.  "Three  months, 
what's  three  months  !  But  if  'twas  three 
score  o'  years  I  wudn't  take  'ee  back." 

"I  be  your  wife.  You  can't  change  ut. 
Us  was  married  honest." 

"  But  that  don't  bind  me  to  live  wi'  'ee." 

She  was  silent,  scanning  his  face  in  vain 
for  some  sign  of  relenting. 

"  'Twudn't  be  the  same  living  wi'  me  now 
as  'twas  afore,"  she  said  after  a  pause.  "  I've 
made  the  little  cottage  vitty,  and  the  flowers 
be  coming  up  trustful.  There  was  a  mort  o' 
yaller  crocus  in  the  patch  aside  the  door  when 
I  hiked  off." 

His  determination  to  sever  all  connection 
with  this  woman  corroded  and  ate  away 
the  pity  her  words  awoke  in  his  heart. 
"  Hester,"  he  answered,  "  have  'ee  ever 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  69 

knowed  me  go  back  from  my  word? 
'Tiddn't  no  use  argying.  "Tis  just  drawing 
away  so  much  breath." 

"  But  folks  ain't  got  no  right  to  a  will  the 
same  as  thic,"  she  exclaimed  helplessly. 

A  smile  hovered  for  a  moment  about  the 
corners  of  his  mouth.  "  Life  wi'  such  men 
as  I  be,"  he  answered,  "  iddn't  a  consarn  o' 
right  and  wrong,  but  jest  whether  us  can 
drive  through  to  what  us  wants." 

She  sank  down  beside  the  hedge.  "  Ben," 
she  exclaimed,  "  you  said  once  if  us  had  a 
chile  you  wud  feel  nearer  to  me.  Who 
knaws  but  that  the  Almighty  'ull  give  us  a 
chile  yet." 

He  turned  away  and  his  thoughts  trav- 
elled back  to  Luce.  "I  have  no  need  o' 
your  chile,"  he  answered  coldly. 

The  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  and  rolled 
one  by  one  down  her  worn,  white  face. 

"  Don't  'ee  say  sich  things  as  that,"  she  ex- 
claimed brokenly  ;  "  a  chile's  a  chile." 

A  sudden  whim  seized  him  to  tell  her  the 


70  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

truth.  "Aye,"  he  answered,  "and  'tis  a 
chile  that  stands  a-tween  us."  The  pain  of 
his  revelation  was  so  great  that  it  deadened 
her  power  of  suffering. 

"  I  sort  o'  knowed  that  'twud  be  me  not 
you  that  ud  bide  faithful,"  she  answered 
dully. 

"Hester,"  he  asked  in  a  gentler  voice, 
"why  do  'ee  care  so  much  for  my  acting 
faithful  ?  I've  always  treated  'ee  harsh 
from  the  first." 

She  laughed  a  little  bruised  laugh.  "  No 
woman  ever  knowed  yet  what  'tis  that 
makes  her  care  for  the  likes  o'  you;  but 
many  another  arter  her  'ull  follow  the  same 
road  to  zarrer." 

Hester  Lupin  rose  to  her  feet ;  far  below, 
visible  through  a  gap  in  the  trees,  was  the 
White  Cottage,  and  by  a  sudden  mutual 
instinct  the  man  and  woman  looked  towards 
it. 

"Who  be  thic  maid  that  stands  a-tween 
us  ? "  she  asked. 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  71 

"Her  lives  over  yonder,"  lie  answered 
slowly,  "  wi'in  call  o'  the  sea.'* 

"And  does  her  know  the  marriage  lines 
'ull  never  be  hers  !  " 

There  was  silence,  and  Lupin  turned  his 
dark,  dare-devil  eyes  full  on  his  wife.  "  Her 
has  the  marriage  lines,"  he  said. 

Hester  gave  a  short,  quick  cry.  "  They're 
mine  afore  the  law.  You  dursn't  give  them 
to  no  other  woman." 

"Aye,  the  law's  on  your  side,  sure 
enough,"  he  answered;  "but  time  be  on 
mine.  You  can  gi'e  me  over  to  prison,  but 
you  can't  tarn  me  back  to  'ee  when  I  come 
out  o'  it  a  free  man." 

"  Oh  Ben,"  she  entreated,  "  tarn  back  to 
me  now,  and  I'll  never  cast  it  at  'ee  that 
you've  acted  wrongful." 

His  face  hardened.  "I've  said  my  say 
and  you  must  bide  by  it." 

"  But  be  your  say  zo  banging  girt  a  thing 
ezthic?" 

"You    can    have   your  revenge,"   he  an- 


72  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

swered,  a  sudden  gleam  of  satisfaction  light- 
ing up  his  dark  face.  "  You  can  gi'e  me 
over  to  the  law." 

"  Tiddn't  revenge  I  want." 

"  Most  women  'ud  take  it." 

"I  hain't  no  jidge  o'  t'others,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  can  only  speak  for  myself." 

A  sudden  keen  need  of  her  revenge  came 
to  him.  "  But  you  must  have  more  spirut," 
he  exclaimed  angrily.  "Don't  'ee  see  I've 
acted  black  ?  " 

"  Spirut,"  she  repeated,  "  I  never  put  no 
vally  on  sich.  'Tis  yourself  I'm  needing, 
and  what  should  I  gain  by  stabbing  'ee 
cowardsome  ? " 

He  moved  impatiently.  "  'Twas  just  they 
obstinate  one-sided  ways  o'  yours  that  drove 
me  wild  from  the  fust,"  he  said,  turning  as 
if  about  to  leave  her. 

"  Ben,  Ben,"  she  cried,  clasping  his  hand, 
"kiss  me  jest  wance  afore  you  go." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  and  looked  upon 
her  face,  which  seemed  as  if  all  the  sorrow  of 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  73 

the  world  had  been  crushed  into  it,  and  a 
horror  seized  him  of  this  woman  capable  of 
entertaining  such  suffering.  He  thrust  her 
from  him  and  hurried  away  into  the  gather- 
ing darkness. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HESTER  LUPIN'S  parents  had  been  small 
farmers,  and  had  died  when  she  was  just 
verging  on  womanhood.  The  farm  had  been 
sold,  and  she  had  gone  to  live  in  a  cottage 
near  her  old  home.  Well  off  for  her  station 
in  life,  and  of  striking  appearance,  many  men 
had  sought  to  marry  her ;  but  till  the  coming 
of  Lupin,  none  had  succeeded  in  touching  her 
heart.  She  had  first  seen  him  in  the  woods 
felling  trees,  when  she  had  gone  there  to  fetch 
water  from  a  stream,  and  had  watched  with 
a  certain  unconscious  pleasure  the  big  muscles 
standing  out  on  his  shoulders.  Ben,  with 
his  quick  eye  for  beauty,  had  not  failed  to 
note  the  tall,  handsome  woman;  but  the 
whim  took  him  to  pay  no  heed  to  her,  except 
that  he  would  fall  to  whistling  as  she  drew 

74 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  75 

near,  knowing  well  that  she  must  needs  stay 
and  listen.  Once  though,  while  they  stood 
thus,  a  little  boy,  sore  of  heart  and  weeping 
bitterly,  came  running  past  them  through 
the  wood;  they,  loving  children,  turned  to 
follow  it.  Caught  up  in  Lupin's  arms  the 
boy  looked  into  the  ugly  brown  face  without 
fear  and  was  comforted,  and  Hester,  who  was 
sad,  for  she  bore  always  a  hidden  fear  about 
with  her,  felt  comforted  also.  From  that 
time  she  began  to  love  Ben.  He  married  her, 
meaning  to  be  faithful,  but  the  excess  of  her 
love  wearied  him.  Then  did  that  which  she 
had  feared  so  long  come  on  her,  and  she  be- 
came a  drunkard ;  and  as  for  Lupin,  he  stole 
away  through  the  dewy  woods  back  to  his 
old  free  roving  life,  and  soon  had  forgotten 
her  existence.  She  waited  long  for  his  re- 
turn, fighting  against  her  besetting  weakness 
till  she  all  but  overcame  it,  then  she  set  out 
to  seek  him.  Now  they  had  met  and  parted. 
Left  alone,  Hester  stood  a  long  time  gazing 
downward  across  the  fields  at  the  White 


76  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

Cottage,  then  turning  away  she  began  to 
slowly  climb  the  hill.  Her  home  on  the  out- 
skirts of  a  town  lay  some  fifty  miles  further 
inland.  Night  fell ;  she  tramped  on,  seeking 
the  nearest  station,  but  losing  herself  in  the 
narrow  country  lanes  that  wound  in  and  out 
and  seemed  to  lead  nowhere  in  particular. 
At  last,  overcome  by  fatigue,  she  sank  down 
beside  a  gate.  The  moon  flung  its  light  on 
her  bowed  figure  and  on  the  tall  hedgerows 
where,  amidst  a  clatter  of  faint  sounds, 
Spring  crept  rustling  towards  fruition.  A 
sense  of  solitude  fell  on  everything,  till  even 
the  distant  lowing  of  cattle  seemed  but  a  far- 
off  echo  of  silence.  The  breeze  died  away. 
Sighing,  the  woman  rose  to  resume  her  jour- 
ney, and  as  she  did  so  Mark  Tavy  came  down 
the  lane.  All  day  he  had  been  seeking 
Hester  Lupin  and  now,  with  a  pang  of  as- 
tonishment, he  recognised  in  the  tall  com- 
manding figure  the  woman  who  had  broken 
in  upon  his  dream.  Halting  opposite  her  he 
eagerly  scanned  her  face. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  77 

"  You  seek  Ben  Lupin  ? "  he  said,  "  and  I 
can  tell  you  where  to  find  'un." 

She  started  at  the  mention  of  her  hus- 
band's name. 

"I  hate 'un,"  Mark  continued.  "Mayhap 
you  do  too."  His  voice  as  he  spoke  shook 
with  passion,  and  drawing  nearer  he  thrust 
his  white  contracted  face  close  to  hers. 

"  "Why  do  you  hate  'un  ? "  she  asked, 
shrinking  back. 

He  burst  into  a  jough  laugh.  "  Cuz  he 
stole  the  woman  I  love  from  me.  That's 
why.  But  God'll  punish  'un  for  it.  God 
'ull  no  let  'un  bring  black  sorrow  into  other 
folks'  lives  for  nought.  His  sins  'ull  find 
'un  out.  Even  now  they  be  tracking  after 
'un  step  for  step." 

She  shivered  and  glanced  round  as  if 
she  heard  the  passing  tread  of  aveng- 
ing Justice,  and  Mark  continued  thickly: 
"'Tis  yourself  that  be  God's  Appointed. 
Tis  yourself  that  the  Almighty  has  chosen 
to  be  the  instrument  o'  His  wrath.  'Tis 


78  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

yourself  that  shall  bear  witness  agin  Ben 
Lupin." 

"No,  no,"  she  protested  hurriedly,  "I'll 
have  naught  to  do  wi'  ut." 

"But  you  must  speak  out,"  Mark  insisted. 
"  There  be  innocent  folk  to  be  saved.  There 
be  other  women  consarned  in  this." 

She  strove  to  regain  full  control  of  her 
faculties  before  replying.  "  Who  told  'ee  I 
was  consarned  in  this  matter  ? "  she  asked  at 
length. 

o 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then 
Mark  determined  to  play  a  bold  game. 
"  You  be  consarned  in  it  cuz  you  be  Ben 
Lupin's  wife,"  he  answered.  "  Anyways,"  he 
added  with  a  sudden  lapse  into  weakness, 
"  that  is  what  I  hold  you  to  be." 

She  laughed  defiantly.  "Do  'ee  reckon 
if  I  was  his  lawful  wife  I'd  let  un  live  wi7 
t'other  woman  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  scanned  her  face,  vainly  trying  to  read 
all  that  was  written  there.  "I  can't  tell," 
he  exclaimed  indecisively. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  79 

She  turned  from  him  in  contempt. 
"  Vule,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  bain't  the  sort 
that  can  afford  to  play  wi'  vengeance. 
Leave  ut  to  the  Almighty.  You  talk  vorrid 
enough  about  *un." 

"  I'll  larn  the  truth  in  spite  o'  'ee,"  he  an- 
swered, shame  sending  the  hot  blood  spurt- 
ing across  his  brow.  "  I've  acted  fair  all 
my  life,  and  'tiddn't  to  be  believed  that  the 
Almighty  is  going  to  see  me  wronged." 

Hester  Lupin,  who  had  walked  away  a 
few  paces,  stopped  short  and  turned  her  sad, 
tragic  face  towards  him.  "There  be  more 
wrongs  in  the  world  than  just  yours  and 
mine,"  she  answered.  "S'pose  the  Almighty 
in  righting  'em  wor  f o'ced  to  let  ours  bide  ?  " 
Then,  without  further  speech,  she  left  him 
and  pursued  her  way.  - 


CHAPTER  IX 

HESTER  LUPIN  went  back  to  her  own  vil- 
lage, and  when  she  reached  her  door  it  seemed 
to  her  as  if  she  was  about  to  enter  the  house 
of  a  stranger,  and  that  her  home  lay  far  away 
in  the  little  White  Cottage  by  the  sea.  In  the 
long,  lonely  nights  that  followed,  she  would 
wake  suddenly,  thinking  she  heard  Ben 
Lupin's  voice  bidding  her  return;  then  she 
would  rise  from  her  bed  and  peer  out  into 
the  darkness,  but  no  sound  would  break  the 
silence,  for  the  call  came  not  from  her  hus- 
band, but  was  the  cry  of  her  own  longing. 
Despair  fell  upon  her  because  she  could  nei- 
ther silence  the  voice  nor  obey  the  summons. 
Then  arose  the  temptation  to  seek  forgetful- 
ness  in  drink,  but  she  resisted  it  because  Ben 
Lupin  might  yet  return,  and  she  would  not 
of  her  own  will  raise  the  barrier  between 
them  higher. 

80 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  81 

Seven  months  passed  away,  and  one  August 
morning  as  she  stood  gazing  at  the  hills,  be- 
yond which  lay  the  sea,  the  longing  to  look 
on  the  White  Cottage,  and  on  the  face  of  the 
woman  Ben  Lupin  loved,  refused  to  be  denied. 
She  stole  out,  and,  hardly  conscious  of  what 
she  did,  followed  the  road  leading  to  the  sta- 
tion and  entered  the  train  which  drowsed 
with  her  slowly  past  the  fields  on  its  way  to 
Bere-Upton.  The  afternoon  tide  was  just  on 
the  flow  when  she  reached  the  cottage ;  far 
out  the  water  crept  shorewards  in  long  green 
transparent  lines.  Hester  drew  closer  and 
peered  timidly  across  the  garden  at  the  small 
white  house.  The  fuchsia  bushes  were  in 
full  bloom,  hollyhocks  stood  up  straight  and 
tall  beside  the  porch,  the  breeze  bowing  their 
heads  and  bearing  a  scent  of  sea  things, 
passed  her  towards  the  hills.  A  sudden 
f aintness  seized  Hester ;  she  steadied  herself 
against  the  gate,  and  as  she  did  so,  Luce 
opened  the  door  and  looked  out.  For 
a  moment  surprise  held  the  girl  silent, 


82  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

then  she  advanced  a  few  steps  down  the 
path. 

"What  ails  'ee?"  she  asked.  "But  then 
do  come  in,  do,  and  rest  yourzelf ;  you  look 
most  mazin'  white  and  divered." 

Hester  made  no  reply,  but  raising  her  eyes 
fixed  them  on  the  younger  woman's  face. 
She  marked  with  a  pang  of  jealousy  how  the 
mysterious  needs  and  claims  of  coming 
motherhood,  while  robbing  the  features  of 
their  freshness,  had  given  them  spiritual  dis- 
tinction, the  fruit  of  long  brooding  thoughts. 
Grudgingly  she  traced  the  motherhood  in  the 
face  of  the  woman  whose  child  was  yet  un- 
born, and  felt  the  cruel  pangs  of  the  barren 
in  the  presence  of  fertility.  Then  she  turned 
aside,  and  looked  towards  the  White  Cottage, 
which  should  have  been  her  home.  Drawing 
herself  upright,  she  advanced,  and  pushing 
back  the  door  she,  with  a  gesture  superb  in 
its  pride,  seemed  to  welcome  Luce  across  the 
threshold.  The  girl  followed  in  puzzled 
silence. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  83 

Within,  the  room  was  dark  and  cool.  A 
sound  of  hammering  came  from  a  shed  at  the 
back  of  the  house. 

Hester  shivered.  "  Who's  over  to  there  ? " 
she  asked,  indicating  the  direction  from 
whence  the  sound  came. 

"  'Tiddn't  no  wan  but  Ben,  ray  husband, 
that  is,"  Luce  answered.  "  He's  making  a  bit 
o'  a  cradle,"  she  added  shyly. 

There  was  silence.  Hester  sank  down  on 
a  seat  and  covered  her  eyes  as  if  to  shield 
them  from  the  light. 

Watching  her,  Luce  caught  the  glitter  of  a 
gold  ring  on  the  upturned  hand.  She  drew 
nearer.  "I  zee,"  she  exclaimed,  "that  you 
be  a  married  woman  yoursel'.  Wor'ss  ever 
fearzome  afore  the  chile  was  borned  to  'ee? 
Sort  of  longing  for  un  and  yet  kind  o'  timid 
o'  his  coming  ?  " 

The  elder  woman  straightened  herself  with 
a  jerk.  "  I  niver  had  no  child,  on'y  wanted 
un,"  she  answered  stiffly. 

"  Ah,"   exclaimed    Luce,  "  'tis  wonderful 


84  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

kooris  feeling  un  wi'  'ee  by  day  and  by  night 
and  all  the  time  being  held  back  from  the 
claiming  o'  un  afore  the  world.  Eh  but  he 
lies  close,  and  when  the  time  is  here  for  his 
coming  he'll  not  be  more  my  lad  than  he 
be  now.  Still,"  she  added  softly,  "  I  shud 
dearly  like  to  hannel  un  and  show  un  to  his 
vether." 

There  was  no  reply,  and  after  a  moment 
Luce  picked  up  some  needlework  from  the 
table. 

"  Zee,"  she  added,  bending  forward,  "  this 
is  just  a  little  snip  o'  a  shift  I've  bin  making 
for  un.  Tis  fine  and  soft,  a  chile's  skin  do 
fret  that  powerful  easy.  Thic  be  the  back, 
and  you  lays  un  down  upo'  your  knee  and 
mops  it  round  un,  zo." 

At  this  moment  Ben  Lupin  entered  the 
room  "unobserved,  and  stood  half-hidden  by 
the  tall  clock  near  the  door.  Hester,  pushing 
aside  the  work,  sat  staring  straight  in  front 
of  her.  Slowly  her  large  dark  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  Thinking  of  her  own  barrenness, 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  85 

the  girl's  words  sounded  as  a  cry  of  triumph 
over  her. 

"  'Tis  cruel  work  talking  o'  childer  to  the 
childless,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Zo  'tis,  zo  'tis,"  Luce  admitted  with  ready 
sympathy.  "But  then  you  iddn't  noways 
old,  mayhap  you'll  have  a  chile  o'  yer  own, 
zome  day.  I  cud  find  it  in  my  heart  to  wish 
it  for  'ee.  Like  enough,  too,  your  man  do 
weary  for  a  lad  the  zarne  ez  yoursel'." 

Hester  rose  to  her  feet.  "  He's  long  since 
given  over  wearying,"  she  exclaimed  harshly. 

"  He  must  be  terrible  t'other  from  Ben," 
Luce  answered. 

The  elder  woman  laughed.  "  Do  you 
reckon  he's  zo  different  ? " 

"Ess,  fay." 

"  I  knowed  a  Ben,  but  he  wor  a  hard  man. 
Waiting  corned  ill  to  him." 

"  Poor  soul !  "  exclaimed  Luce.  "  My  lad 
be  always  tendersome  wi'  me,  though  he  do 
act  high-handed  and  spirity  to  other  folks  at 
times." 


86  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

"You  have  niver  tried  un.  'Tiddn't  no 
childless  hearth  that  he'll  be  axed  to  sit  by 
year  in  year  out." 

"  No ;  but  he's  mortal  jealous  o'  the  child 
that's  coming  for  all  o'  thic.  Whiles  I  be 
fo'ced  to  wait  till  he  has  dropped  off  to  zlape 
afore  I  as  much  as  dare  call  the  little  'un 
to  mind.  But  then  I  don't  worry.  I  knaws 
well  enough  that  when  wance  the  chile  is 

0 

here  Ben  ull  no  grudge  him  aught  in  reason, 
and  as  to  the  easyfying  o'  life,  a  lad  looks  to 
have  that  droo  his  mother." 

For  a  while  no  sound  was  audible  in  the 
room  but  the  slow,  laboured  ticking  of  the 
eight-day  clock,  and  then  Hester  stepped  for- 
ward and  caught  Luce  by  the  arm. 

"Do  'ee  reckon,"  she  exclaimed  fiercely, 
"  that  life  'ull  always  run  along  smooth  for 
'ee,  the  zame  ez  it  has  ?  Haven't  'ee  niver 
heard  o'  zarrer  ?  Who  be  you  and  yours  that 
you  shud  hope  to  escape  it?  Do  'ee  think 
cuz  the  chile  lies  safe  agin  your  heart  now 
that  the  day  'ull  niver  come  when  he'll  stray 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  87 

far  from  'ee  ?  Do  'ee  count  that  the  Ben  you 
have  lamed  to  trust  in  the  saft  months  o' 
courting  'ull  be  the  zame  droo  life  ? " 

The  younger  woman  drew  away  her  arm 
and  sank  down  on  the  nearest  chair. 

"  It  scares  me  to  hear  'ee  talk  zo,"  she  pro- 
tested. "  What  do  mak'  'ee  do  it  ?  Zee,  I  am 
all  o'  a  trembly." 

"I  don't  want  to  scare  'ee,"  Hester  an- 
swered in  a  sad  voice.  "  I  don't  wish  'ee  no 
harm,  nay,  more'n  that,  I  cud  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  wish  'ee  wull.  To  add  to  your  zar- 
rer  'ull  take  nought  from  the  weight  o'  mine." 

She  ceased  speaking,  and  her  eyes  fell  on 
Ben  Lupin.  For  a  moment  the  husband  and 
wife  looked  at  one  another,  then  silently  she 
passed  him  by  and  left  the  house.  He 
turned  and  gazed  after  her,  his  face  white 
and  contracted.  A  sudden  gust  of  wind 
caught  the  door,  shutting  it  with  a  slam,  and 
he  stood  and  stared  mechanically  at  the  bare 
panels.  True,  his  secret  still  remained  un- 
disclosed, but  not  till  that  moment  had  he 


88  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

realized  how  great  was  the  gift  he  had  been 
willing  to  accept,  and  his  manhood  trembled 
beneath  the  weight  of  a  craven  gratitude. 
He  had  never  analysed  his  love  for  Luce,  nor 
understood  how  rapid  had  been  its  growth, 
or  how  closely  his  happiness  had  become 
bound  up  with  hers.  He  had  believed  him- 
self strong  enough  to  do  wrong  and  bear  the 
punishment  of  his  wrong-doing ;  but  standing, 
a  silent  spectator  of  the  scene  between  the 
two  women,  a  novel  sensation  had  come  to 
him ;  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  been 
afraid.  His  whole  nature  revolted  against 
the  harbouring  of  fear,  but  he  could  not 
thrust  it  from  him,  stronger  than  his  pride 
was  this  strange  new  need  of  happiness. 
Unobserved  by  him  it  had  sprung  up  in  his 
heart,  sheltered  by  the  presence  there  of  the 
one  woman  he  had  ever  learned  to  love.  He 
dared  not  risk  the  loss  of  her  affection,  and  yet 
the  failing  to  face  that  risk  involved  the  sur- 
render of  everything  that  hitherto  he  had 
held  most  dear.  His  pity  for  Hester  died 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  89 

within  him,  he  could  not  afford  to  be  pitiful ; 
but  still  dumbly  wrestling  with  this  strange 
new  problem  he  came  forward  to  where  Luce 
sat,  and  flung  himself  down  beside  her  on 
the  worn  horsehair  settle. 

She  slipped  her  hand  into  his.  "  Oh,  lad," 
she  exclaimed,  "  I've  been  that  scart." 

Lupin  allowed  her  fingers  to  lie  in  his 
palm,  but  took  no  notice  of  her  remark. 
Surprised  at  his  silence,  she  scrutinised  his 
face  more  closely. 

"  What  be  'ee  worriting  over  ? "  she 
asked.  "You  don't  look  noways  yerzulf." 

He  did  not  answer.  The  words  sounded 
in  his  ears,  but  he  remained  blank  to  their 
meaning. 

A  fear  seized  Luce;  she  raised  herself, 
and,  leaning  forward,  caught  both  his  hands. 
"  Thic  f  urren  woman  wor  nought  to  'ee  I  " 
she  asked.. 

He  stared  dully  into  the  girl's  face,  but 
returned  no  answer.  She  flung  herself  upon 
her  knees  before  him. 


90  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

"  Ben,  Ben,"  she  exclaimed,  shaking  him 
with  all  her  strength,  as  if  she  must  arouse 
him  out  of  the  strange  lethargy  into  which 
he  had  fallen,  "  What  wor  'ee  doing  all  the 
long  years  you  were  away  from  me  ? " 

"  Why  do  'ee  ax  thic  now  ? "  he  said  at 
length. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  feebly, 
"  only  I'm  afeard." 

The  words  ended  in  a  cry,  as  a  curious 
sharp  pain  tore  its  way  through  her  body, 
and  she  fell  sobbing  against  his  knee.  He 
lifted  her  up,  and  carrying  her  into  the  next 
room,  put  her  on  the  bed.  After  a  while 
the  pain  lost  some  of  its  fierceness ;  she 
begged  him  to  lie  down  beside  her,  and 
when  he  had  done  so  she  placed  her  face 
close  to  his  and  her  tears  fell  upon  his 
cheeks. 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  so  chanced  that  when  Hester  left  the 
White  Cottage  Septimus  Spong  was  seated 
on  a  neighbouring  fence.  Her  pale  face, 
with  its  expression  of  tragic  suffering,  at 
once  attracted  his  attention,  and,  being  a 
man  of  some  little  curiosity,  he  decided  to 
follow  the  stranger.  Before  slipping  down 
from  the  fence,  however,  he  stayed  a  mo- 
ment to  knock  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 
Day  was  setting  towards  dusk  when  he 
turned  in  pursuit,  but  the  tall  figure  in  front 
of  him  was  outlined  clearly  enough  against 
the  hill.  Lupin  had  few  relatives,  and 
Spong,  running  over  the  list  of  them  in  his 
mind,  could  think  of  no  one  but  an  aunt  in 
Australia. 

"  Well,    'tis  to  be  hoped    her's    sommat 

more'n  a  relative,"  he  murmured;  "but  the 

01 


92  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

ins  and  outs  o'  things  be  pleasurable  know- 
ing anyways." 

He  quickened  his  pace,  and,  as  he  did  so, 
Hester  Lupin  swerved  and  fell  in.  a  heap 
across  the  path.  Hurrying  forward,  Spong 
saw  that  she  had  fainted;  he  raised  her  to 
a  sitting  position,  and  her  head  sank  back 
among  the  ferns  on  the  hedge  side.  The 
situation  was  developing  almost  too  rapidly, 
and  he  stood  looking  down  at  her  in  puzzled 
silence.  After  a  moment  she  opened  her 
eyes. 

"Do  you  reckon  you  cud  git  as  far  as 
the  Lupins'  cottage  if  I  wor  to  lend  'ee  a 
hand?"  he  said. 

She  shuddered.  "  I'll  bide  where  I  be  for 
a  bit,  and  then  I'll  hike  home  along,"  she 
answered. 

Spong's  curiosity,  which  had  nagged  un- 
der the  stress  of  circumstances,  was  at  once 
re-aroused.  "  Do  'ee  live  far  from  here  ? " 
he  asked.  "  I  fancied  you  wor  a  furrener." 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  appeared  not  to 


THE  WHITE   COTTAGE  93 

hear  the  question.  Somewhat  baffled,  he 
glanced  at  her  hand  to  see  if  she  wore  a 
wedding  ring,  and  then  back  at  her  face,  the 
sadness  of  which  stirred  his  heart  with  pity. 
He  felt  ashamed  of  prying  into  her  affairs, 
and,  turning  away,  looked  sheepishly  down, 
the  lane.  After  a  while  she  raised  herself, 
and  asked  him  to  help  her  as  far  as  the  vil- 
lage. They  crept  forward  at  a  slow  pace, 
she  leaning  heavily  on  his  arm,  till  at  length 
they  reached  a  small  inn  called  "  The  Fisher- 
man's Desire." 

"Mayhap  I  shud  do  well  to  rest  here  a 
bit,"  she  said. 

"  Ess,  fay,"  he  agreed  eagerly ;  "  a  drop  o' 
spirrats  7ud  put  fresh  life  into  'ee." 

A  curious  expression,  half  eager,  half 
afraid,  crossed  her  face,  but  she  made  no 
comment  and  they  entered  the  inn  together. 
The  room  was  empty,  and  Spong  went  in 
search  of  the  landlord,  returning  after  a 
few  minutes  with  a  bottle  of  rum  and  two 
glasses  on  a  tray.  He  poured  out  some  of 


94  THE    WHITE  COTTAGE 

the  spirits  and  pushed  it  across  the  table  to 
Hester.  She  put  out  her  hand  and  drew  it 
closer,  but  did  not  drink  The  smell  of  the 
spirits  filled  the  room.  Leaning  back  in 
her  chair  she  closed  her  eyes;  her  hands, 
gripped  tight  together,  were  folded  on  her 
knee.  From  time  to  time  her  throat  twitched 
as  if  she  were  swallowing.  Suddenly  she 
bent  forward,  thrust  her  lips  to  the  glass, 
sucking  up  the  liquid  with  a  hideous  sound 
of  hurry.  Spong  watched  her  in  dismay, 
but  she  had  forgotten  his  presence. 

Seizing  the  bottle,  she  filled  and  refilled 
her  glass  with  pure  spirits.  An  unsexed  ex- 
pression came  into  her  face,  the  wan  cheeks 
seemed  to  cave  together ;  it  was  as  if  some 
oubliette  of  the  soul  had  opened  through 
which  her  womanhood  had  sunk  out  of  sight. 

The  sweat  began  to  gather  on  Spong's 
forehead ;  he  wiped  it  off  with  his  hand. 
A  fear  of  being  found  in  this  woman's  com- 
pany beset  him.  He  wondered  what  his 
neighbours  would  think. 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  95 

"  Law  jay ! "  he  exclaimed,  rising  from 
his  seat,  "  who  cud  ha'  believed  it  o'  her, 
law  jay ! " 

Then  Hester's  mood  changed.  Bending 
forward,  she  caught  Septimus  Spong  by 
the  arm,  thrusting  him  back  into  his  chair. 

"  What  have  I  zed  ?  "  she  cried.  "  What 
have  I  told  'ee  ?  No  wan  must  knaw  that 
I  be  Ben  Lupin's  wife."  A  flood  of  maudlin 
tears  silenced  her  for  a  moment.  "  Who  is 
it,"  she  continued,  glancing  round,  "that 
keeps  on  a-zaying  I  ba  wife  to  Ben  Lupin 
over  to  the  White  Cottage?  I  tull  'ee  no 
wan  must  knaw  cuz  they  wad  up  and  tull  it 
to  the  law,  and  the  law  iddn't  to  be  trusted 
wi'  sich  things ;  the  law  'ud  put  un  in 
prison,  that's  wat  the  law  'ud  be  after 
doing." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  and  stretching 
Out  a  trembling  hand,  searched  vaguely 
round  for  the  bottle  of  spirits. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  be  his  wife,  not  her; 
and  the  chile  that  is  coming  shud  ha'  been 


96  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

my  chile.  Who  told  'ee  the  chile's  my 
chile  ? "  She  stopped  speaking,  and  her 
eyes  fell  on  her  wedding  ring ;  she  twisted 
it  round.  "  I  can't  understand,"  she  con- 
tinued ;  "  there's  sommat  I  must  have 
forgot." 

Overwhelmed  with  astonishment,  Spong 
sat  silently  staring  at  the  drunken  woman. 
She  eyed  him  dazedly,  a  slow  smile  broaden- 
ing her  face,  her  head  nodding.  After  a 
moment  the  upper  half  of  her  body  slid 
forward,  first  slowly,  then  with  a  jerk  on  to 
the  table. 

The  postman  waited  no  longer,  but  rose 
and  fled.  Once  back  in  his  own  cottage  he 
tried  to  collect  his  thoughts  and  review  the 
situation.  Spong,  by  nature,  was  what  the 
villagers  called  an  "  interfering  man  " ;  he 
liked,  as  he  called  it,  to  "  hold  the  strings  of 
things."  Now  it  seemed  as  if  his  desire  was 
about  to  be  granted,  and  yet  there  was  much 
in  the  situation  that  did  not  please  him. 
He  could  have  wished  to  have  learned  the 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  97 

truth  in  any  other  way  than  the  way  he 
had;  neither  could  he  disabuse  his  mind 
of  the  thought  that  the  drunken  woman 
had  tried  to  guard  her  secret  even  at  the 
moment  when  she  was  betraying  it,  and 
this  knowledge  filled  him  with  uneasiness. 
Still,  in  common  justice  to  the  village 
and  his  own  intelligence,  the  truth  must 
be  told  and  morality  avenged.  There  could 
be  little  doubt  that  it  was  a  grand  part 
that  he  was  being  called  upon  to  play, 
though  he  could  have  wished  for  a  more 
overwhelming  sense  of  righteousness  in  the 
playing  of  it. 

At  last  he  decided  to  go  to  bed  and 
sleep  on  the  question,  having  learnt  by  ex- 
perience that  a  man  can  see  further  into 
the  truth  after  a  good  night's  rest.  Sleep, 
however,  refused  to  visit  him,  and  the  soft 
yellow  dawn  spreading  across  the  fields 
found  him  still  undecided  as  to  his  ulti- 
mate course  of  action ;  on  one  point  alone 
had  he  come  to  a  decision,  and  that  was  he 


98  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

would  go  down  to  Ben  Lupin  and  tell  him 
what  he  thought  of  his  behaviour. 

He  rose  and  dressed;  opening  a  chest 
of  drawers  he  drew  out  his  best  coat ;  there 
was  nothing,  he  knew  from  experience,  like 
being  sure  of  one's  personal  appearance 
when  admonishing  others,  and  Spong  felt 
very  sure  of  himself  indeed  as  he  walked 
across  the  fields  to  the  White  Cottage.  The 
door  was  open,  smoke  pushing  out  from  the 
chimney;  he  was  surprised,  for  the  hour 
was  still  early. 

A  moment  later,  Lupin  hurried  down 
the  path,  thrusting  his  arms  into  his  coat  as 
he  ran,  jumped  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the 
garden  and  rushed  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  village. 

The  little  postman's  heart  gave  a  thud  of 
dismay.  What  was  the  reason  of  this  haste 
on  Lupin's  part  ?  Had  he  been  warned  ? 
Was  he  attempting  to  escape  from  the  hands 
of  the  law?  At  the  thought  Spong's  de- 
termination hardened.  He  advanced  down 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  99 

the  garden  path  and  rapped  at  the  door. 
There  was  no  answer,  he  was  about  to  repeat 
the  knock  when  his  ear  caught  the  sound 
of  moaning.  An  unpleasant  thrill  passed 
through  him  and  he  hesitated  whether  to  ad- 
vance or  retreat.  After  a  moment,  however, 
the  braver  counsel  prevailed ;  he  entered  the 
cottage  and  softly  pushed  open  the  bedroom 
door,  the  latch  of  which  was  unfastened.  A 
dim  light  entered  with  him  and  Spong  could 
see  the  figure  of  a  woman  huddled  together 
in  the  corner  of  the  wooden  bed.  Her  face 
was  buried  in  the  pillow,  and  she  sobbed  as 
one  who  suffered  greatly,  for  she  was  travel- 
ling through  the  pains  to  the  joys  of  mother- 
hood. 

"  Ben,  Ben,"  she  moaned,  "  what  makes  'ee 
bide  away  zo  long?  I'm  scart  wi'out  'ee. 
Oh,  lad,  I  want  'ee  to  hold  my  hand  and  tell 
me  'tis  nobut  our  chile,  your  chile  and  mine, 
that  mayhap  the  pain  won't  be  zo  mortal 
bad  to  bear.  I'm  fear'd  to  bide  here  all 
alone,  I'm  fear'd,  I'm  fear'd." 


100  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

Spong  crept  out  of  the  house,  his  eyes 
full  of  tears,  and  his  round,  puckered  face 
redder  than  usual. 

"Law  jay  !  "  he  exclaimed,  leaning  against 
the  fence.  "  I  cudn't  find  it  in  nay  heart  to 
part  'em — things  must  jest  bide  ez  they  ba." 


CHAPTER  XI 

MOST  people  entertain  an  idle  belief  that 
they  can  keep  a  secret  if  they  are  so  minded, 
little  realizing  that  not  good-will  alone  but 
a  rare  amount  of  self-repression  is  needed 
to  accomplish  this  feat  successfully.  It  is 
probable  that  if  Spong  had  not  determined, 
under  no  circumstances,  to  reveal  Hester 
Lupin's  secret  he  might  have  found  his  task 
easier  of  achievement ;  but  having  once  taken 
the  fatal  resolution,  the  secret  remained  up- 
permost in  his  mind  and  seemed  ever  on  the 
point  of  accidentally  slipping  into  the  light 
of  day.  Three  weeks  passed,  however,  and 
no  one  in  the  village  was  the  wiser  for 
Spong's  discovery.  The  effort  necessary  to 
maintain  silence  was  so  great  that  once,  on 
meeting  Lupin  accidentally  in  the  street,  the 

101 


102  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

little  postman  pulled  up  short  with  an  in- 
voluntary expectation  of  being  thanked,  and 
when  Lupin  passed  without  so  much  as 
vouchsafing  a  glance  in  his  direction,  Sep- 
timus Spong's  heart  hardened  and  he  mut- 
tered the  word  "gratitude"  in  a  tone  of  fine 
sarcasm.  Later  the  same  day,  returning 
from  his  rounds,  he  met  Mark  Tavy,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  felt  a  sense  of  fellow- 
ship for  the  young  fellow.  Mark  turned 
and  walked  beside  him,  and,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  the  postman  burst  out : 

"  That  there  Ben  Lupin  is  a  black  'un  and 
no  mistake."  The  speech  was  so  sudden  and 
unexpected,  that  Mark  straightened  himself 
much  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow  in  the 
body. 

"  What  makes  'ee  say  that  ? "  he  asked. 

But  the  little  postman  had  already  begun 
to  regret  having  spoken,  and  shut  his  lips 
close  to  avoid  further  indiscretions. 

Mark  scanned  his  face  eagerly.  Since  the 
meeting  with  Hester  he  had  not  ceased  to 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  103 

hope  that  he  would  some  day  alight  on  facts 
detrimental  to  Lupin's  reputation. 

"  It's  my  belief,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  you 
have  come  across  that  woman." 

Spong  wheeled  round  and  looked  at  him. 
"  Have  'ee  zeed  her  yursulf  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  had  speech  with  her  too." 

"  Law  jay  !  "  exclaimed  Septimus,  "  and 
wor  her  drunk  ?  " 

"  Drunk  ?     No,  sober  as  a  charch." 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  the  postman  slowly, 
"  I  reckon  her  wur  more  zilent  than  speechful. 
Poor  soul,  her  has  need  to  ha'  a  care  o'  her 
company." 

"  What  do  'ee  mean  by  that  ? " 

"  Nought,  nought,"  said  Spong,  once  more 
resuming  his  way.  "  Only  when  I  calls  to 
mind  how  her  let  on  when  her  had  took  a 
drap  too  much  and  the  things  she  zed.  Why, 
I  wor  that  gapnesting  and  overtook  you 
might  ha'  runned  me  droo  wi'  wan  o'  they 
long  skewers  o'  the  widdy's,  and  I  shudn't 
ha'  taken  no  notice  whatsoiver." 


104  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

Anxiety  to  know  more  sharpened  Mark's 
wits,  a  sudden  inspiration  came  to  him ;  he 
glanced  round,  there  was  no  one  in  sight. 
"  Septimus,"  he  said,  "  you  be  a  careful  man 
and  a  man  folks  ha'  learnt  to  trust." 

"  Ess,  fay,"  Spong  interrupted.  "  I  be  all 
that  and  more." 

"  You  see  a  deal  further  than  your  neigh- 
bours." 

"  Tis  no  but  the  truth." 

"  And  you  wud  ha'  made  a  better  p'lice- 
man  than  the  wan  us  ha'  got."  In  making 
the  assertion  Mark  well  knew  that  he  was 
falling  in  with  one  of  the  little  postman's 
cherished  illusions. 

Spong's  face  brightened.  "  I  niver  had  no 
'pinion  o'  Constable  Garge  in  my  life,"  he 
said  emphatically. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Mark  drew 
in  his  breath ;  he  was  about  to  make  a  bid 
for  the  secret 

"  Do  'ee  reckon,"  he  said,  turning  quickly 
and  facing  his  companion,  "  that  if  so  be  it 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  105 

had  been  you  that  had  the  acting  for  the  law 
in  this  here  village,  Ben  Lupin  wud  be  the 
free  man  to-day  that  he  be  ?  " 

"  No,  begore,"  Spong  burst  out,  "  he  wud 
ha'  been  jailed  this  week  ago,  sarving  his  five 
years  for  bigamy." 

The  complete  success  of  his  stratagem  left 
Mark  surprised  rather  than  elated,  but,  after 
a  while,  a  bitter  joy  filled  him.  "  Luce  iddn't 
wife  to  Ben  Lupin  after  all,"  he  exclaimed, 
with  exultation. 

"  Well,  don't  bawl  it  out  so  that  the  whole 
parish  can  hear  'ee,  anyway,"  Spong  remon- 
strated, throwing  an  uneasy  glance  behind 
him.  "  Law  jay,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause, 
"'twud  be  a  narrer  heart  that  cudn't  find 
room  in  it  to  pity  both  o'  'em,  wife  and  maid ; 
for  how  the  one  is  to  be  righted  wi'out  it 
going  rare  hard  for  t'other  poor  zoul,  be 
more'n  I  can  zee." 

But  Mark  was  in  no  mood  to  weigh  such 
a  question  in  the  balance.  "Things  won't 
bide  as  they  be,"  he  answered. 


106  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

Spong's  round  face  lengthened.  "  Don't 
'ee  be  after  making  no  mistake,"  he  replied 
with  vigour.  "Tiddn't  no  matter  to  be 
lightly  meddled  with,  and  the  man  that  takes 
it  on  hiszulf  to  interfere  ull  ez  like  ez  not  ha' 
the  breaking  o'  Luce  Myrtle's  heart  for  his 
pains.  You  can't  strip  a  maid  sich  ez  her  be 
o'  decency  and  rispact  and  reckon  to  be 
thanked  for  your  trouble." 

The  blood,  cramped  into  the  young  fisher- 
man's veins,  rose  and  beat  against  the  walls 
of  his  brain.  "  A  lad  cud  make  an  honest 
woman  o'  her,"  he  said  huskily. 

A  vision  of  Luce  as  he  last  saw  her,  lying 
in  the  old  wooden  bed,  rose  before  Spong. 

"  Mayhap  her  wud  feel  a  deal  honester  left 
ez  her  be,"  he  answered,  after  a  pause. 
"Zims  almost  ez  if  it  took  more'n  the  law 
and  the  Church  to  make  folks  man  an' wife." 

Mark  did  not  answer.  The  two  men 
strode  along,  the  one  with  a  heart  filled 
with  pity,  the  other  with  bitterness.  At 
Widow  Flutter's  door  they  parted,  and 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  107 

Mark  continued  his  way  to  the  quay  where 
his  boat  was  anchored.  Jumping  on  board, 
he  hoisted  sail  and  steered  out  to  sea.  He 
wanted  to  be  alone,  he  wanted  to  think,  but 
his  mind,  paralyzed  by  emotion,  could  as- 
similate nothing,  and  his  twitching  lips 
formed  the  same  sentence  over  and  over 
again. 

"Her  isn't  no  wife  of  his,"  he  muttered; 
"  her  isn't  no  wife  o'  his." 

The  boat,  noseing  her  way  through  a  head 
sea,  rose  and  fell;  he  shifted  the  sail,  laid 
her  over  upon  another  tack  and  she  swung 
round,  running  almost  parallel  with  the 
cliffs.  To  leeward,  the  White  Cottage,  the 
setting  sun  full  on  the  small  windows,  stood 
looking  down  upon  him  with  red,  shiny 
eyes.  For  weeks  he  had  avoided  glancing 
in  that  direction,  but  to-day  he  flung  back 
his  head  and  stared  up  defiantly;  and  the 
little  cottage,  as  some  living  thing,  seemed  to 
realize  the  change  in  him.  It  grew  less  self- 
confident;  the  light  fading,  its  eyes  looked 


108  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

no  better  than  the  windows  of  a  dead  soul. 
A  sense  of  triumph  filled  Mark ;  he  longed 
to  return,  and  in  retaliation  for  the  many  in- 
dignities thrust  upon  him,  to  seize  Luce  and 
tear  her  from  this  cottage  that  had  forfeited 
the  right  of  sanctity. 

"  I  cud  gi'e  her  an  honest  name,"  he  said. 
Yet,  even  as  he  spoke,  Spoug's  words  re- 
echoed through  his  mind:  "Mayhap  her 
wud  feel  honester  left  ez  her  is." 

Such  an  attitude,  so  illogical  and  yet  so 
like  a  woman,  filled  him  with  bitterness. 
Gladly  would  he  have  imagined  Luce  as  ris- 
ing superior  to  it,  but  the  faith  failed  him. 
The  law  was  on  his  side,  but  the  law  was  of 
scant  account  among  women,  they  neither 
understood  nor  heeded  it.  Then  he  tried  to 
juggle  with  facts.  What  right,  he  asked 
himself,  had  he  to  withhold  the  truth  from 
Luce?  If  she  failed  to  value  her  good 
name,  it  behoved  him  to  guard  it  the  more 
closely.  To  and  fro,  he  wove  the  woof  of 
his  desire  between  the  warp  of  fact,  till  all 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  109 

that  was  most  false  in  the  picture  startled 
him  by  its  verisimilitude.  Slowly  night 
closed  in  upon  him,  and  as  the  dusk  deep- 
ened he  seemed  to  span  more  nearly  the  gulf 
that  lay  between  Luce's  happiness  and  his  own. 

"  Zome  day  her'll  thank  me  for  speaking 
out,"  he  said.  The  words  startled  him ;  he 
did  not  know  his  purpose  was  already  fixed. 
He  glanced  back,  the  land  was  hidden  in  the 
general  greyness,  nothing  was  visible  but  the 
wide  stretch  of  sea  around,  and  the  wide 
stretch  of  sky  above.  A  sense  of  his  own 
insignificance  came  to  him,  his  spirit  shrank 
altogether. 

He  flung  himself  down  into  the  bottom  of 
the  boat. 

"  O  God  !  "  he  sobbed  out,  "  Ben's  given 
me  tumble  cause  to  hate  un — and  her  was 
to  ha'  been  my  wife." 

Yet  this  confession  of  an  unworthy  motive 
was  but  tentative  and  half-hearted,  for  it 
was  part  of  his  faith  that  he  was  a  good 
man  and  that  his  cause  was  just. 


CHAPTER  XII 

CONSTABLE  GAUGE  was  seated  in  the  arm- 
chair before  the  fire  when  Spong  entered 
Widow  Flutter's  cottage.  An  expression  of 
solid  contentment  rested  on  the  policeman's 
face,  his  long  legs  were  stretched  out  at  full 
length,  his  corn-coloured  beard  curled  across 

O         ' 

his  chest,  spreading  itself  out  as  some  great 
tuft  of  seaweed  afloat  on  a  wave.  The  pang 
of  jealousy  that  shot  through  Spong  at  the 
sight  of  his  rival  was  followed  by  a  soothing 
feeling  of  triumph;  he  hugged  his  secret 
more  closely,  and  eyed  his  gigantic  rival  with 
contempt  born  of  a  wider  knowledge  of  the 
affairs  of  the  village.  There  was  a  short 
silence  while  the  widow,  her  plump,  fresh 
face  a  little  flushed,  busied  herself  in  pouring 
Spong  out  a  cup  of  tea.  Glancing  about 

him,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  five  large, 

no 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  111 

coloured  glass  balls  reposing  on  a  table  near 
the  fire. 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  drawing  his  chair 
forward,  "  whativer  have  us  got  here  ?  " 

"  Nought  less  than  a  present,"  replied  the 
widow,  smiling;  "the  same  ha'  been  brought 
from  Barnstaple  fair,  not  longer  ago  than 
the  night  afore  last." 

Spong's  contempt  for  his  rival  deepened. 
"  Glass  balls,"  he  said,  "  wor  a  poor  exchange 
for  the  doing  o'  dooty." 

The  reply  did  not  seem  exactly  to  the 
widow's  taste. 

"  There's  dooty  and  dooty,"  she  answered 
with  some  sharpness;  "and  the  coloured 
balls  have  ez  much  meaning  attached  to  'em 
ez  any  Christian,  for  all  they  be  made  o'  glass. 
And  if  you  doubt  my  word,  you  can  ax  Con- 
stable Garge." 

"  Law  jay  ! "  said  Spong.  whose  temper 
was  rising,  "  if  I  wor  to  put  a  question, 
'twou'd  be  ez  to  the  use  o'  sich  trash." 

"  Wull,  wull,"  Constable  Garge  interposed 


112  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

in  an  even  voice,  "  they  wor  made  more  for 
ornament  than  for  use,  I  reckon,  baing,  so  to 
speak,  things  o'  taste.  Leastways,  that  wor 
how  I  put  it  to  the  missis  at  the  stall. 
'Mother,'  ses  I,  *  I  be  thinking  o' gitting 
married,  and  I  want  sommat  wi'  a  look  to 
it.' " 

At  the  word  "  married,"  Spong  gave  a  loud, 
indignant  snort ;  but  the  constable,  appearing 
not  to  notice  the  interruption,  proceeded 
calmly  with  his  tale. 

"  Then  ses  she  to  me,  '  You  couldn't  go  for 
to  do  a  wiser  thing  than  buy  they  five  col- 
oured balls.  There's  the  blue  wan,'  she  ses, 
*  the  same  colour  ez  the  stripes  across  Her 
Majesty's  breast;  red,  that  'ull  put  'ee  in 
mind  of  battle,  murder  and  sudden  death,  the 
same  being,  ez  the  Prayer-Book  ses,  always 
in  our  midst ;  green  stands  for  the  Emerald 
Isle,  a  part  o'  England,  tho'  I've  heard  a  place 
wi'  ways ;  yaller  'ull  tell  'ee  ivery  Saturday 
night  to  put  your  money  faithful  in  your 
wife's  hand ;  purple  pictures  life,  not  over- 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  113 

full  o'  zarrer  or  o'  joy,  but  fair  eating  and 
clothes  to  taste.'  Wi'  that  I  paid  down  my 
money,  thinking  I  cudn't  do  a  much  wiser 
thing." 

The  constable  relapsed  into  silence.  Spong, 
for  his  part,  was  more  impressed  than  he 
cared  to  admit.  He  had  had  a  sneaking  ad- 
miration for  the  glass  balls  from  the  first  mo- 
ment that  he  set  eyes  on  them,  but  the  wealth 
of  metaphorical  meaning  attributed  to  them 
by  their  donor  almost  took  his  breath  away. 
He  realized  too  that  this  well-chosen  present 
had  been  the  means  by  which  his  rival  had 
ingratiated  himself  with  the  widow,  and  the 
knowledge  increased  his  desire  to  humiliate 
Constable  Garge  in  her  presence. 

"  If  I  chose  to  put  tongue  to  speech,"  he 
burst  out,  "  I  cud  tell  'ee  that  ez  wud  make 
'ee  think  o'  sommat  else  azide  glass  balls." 

At  this  remark  the  widow  showed  signs 
of  evident  curiosity,  but  Constable  Garge 
merely  spread  himself  out  more  comfortably  in 
his  chair,  raised  one  heavy  eyelid,  gazed  a  mo- 


114  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

ment  at  the  angry  little  postman,  and  then, 
without  further  ado,  dropped  off  to  sleep. 

"  Zlape  away,  you  banging  girt  bumble- 
head  !  "  exclaimed  Spong  in  a  voice  of  ex- 
treme irritation ;  "  wan  wud  reckon,  to  see 
'ee,  that  a  constable's  vally  lay  in  his  stom- 
ach and  not  in  his  wits." 

A  loud  snore  was  the  only  reply;  even 
the  widow  seemed  a  trifle  surprised. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  remarked,  "  he's  done  a 
hard  day's  work,  no  doubt." 

"  Wark ! "  Spong  repeated,  "  'tis  precious 
little  wark  he  do  do.  Why,  if  things  were 
left  to  he,  all  the  jails  wud  go  empty,  and 
ivery  rapscallion  in  the  country-side  'ud  be 
free  to  ride  in  a  coach." 

The  widow  was  no  friend  to  backbiting. 
"  La,  la !  Mr.  Spong,"  she  exclaimed,  "  how 
you  do  run  on  agin  him,  to  be  sure." 

"  And  reason  I  have  for  the  zame." 

"Wull,"  she  answered,  rising  from  her 
seat,  "will  'ee  take  a  drap  o'  sloe  gin  if  I 
wor  to  pour  it  out  for  'ee  ? " 


THE    WHITE  COTTAGE  115 

At  the  mention  of  sloe  gin,  the  sleeping 
form  of  Constable  Garge  twitched  violently. 

"  I  don't  so  much  mind  if  I  do,"  Spong 
answered  in  a  pleasanter  tone. 

The  gin  was  brought,  and  as  the  liquid 
trickled  with  a  plop-plop  into  the  glasses, 
a  sound  more  resembling  a  groan  than  a 
snore  came  from  the  policeman's  chair. 

"  How  heavy  he  do  dream,  poor  man ! " 
"Widow  Flutter  remarked,  glancing  at  her  re- 
cumbent admirer. 

"Thick  wits  zlape  sound,"  Spong  an- 
swered ;  "  and  thick-witted  he  be  and  no 
mistake.  Why " — and  the  little  postman 
edged  his  chair  nearer  to  the  widow  as  he 
spoke — "I  cud  tell  'ee  zommat  that  he  wi' 
all  his  prying  ain't  found  out,  and  zommat 
he  wud  gi'  a  deal  to  know." 

"La!"  said  the  widow,  "what  a  pusson 
for  information  you  do  be,  Mr.  Spong." 

"  I  marks  what  1  zees,  that  is  what  I  does, 
Widow  Flutter." 

"  And  yet  'tiddn't  you  that  be  constable," 


116  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

she  said;  adding  after  a  pause,  however, 
thoughtfully,  "but  there  iddn't  a  finer-built 
man  in  all  the  village,  no  one  wi'  more  length 
o'  leg  than  Constable  Garge." 

"  What's  length  o'  leg  put  aside  length  o' 
wit  ?  "  remarked  Spong  testily. 

"  To  be  sure,"  the  widow  answered  in  a 
soothing  voice,  "  there  comes  times  when  us 
needs  the  both." 

"If  so  be  us  has  'em  to  fall  back  on, 
Widow  Flutter,  always  providing  thic," 
Spong  observed.  "  Why,  there  is  a  man  in 
this  village  I  cud  jail  at  this  very  minute  ez 
sure  ez  I  sit  here.  He  wud  need  more'n  his 
own  share  o'  wit  to  escape  me,  but  he  ain't 
got  nought  to  fear  from  Constable  Garge, 
and  can  snap  his  vingers  at  the  law  the  same 
ez  honest  folk." 

"  La,"  exclaimed  the  widow,  "  what  dread- 
ful tales  you  do  tell.  It  quite  makes 
the  cold  shivers  run  down  my  back  only 
to  hear  'ee.  And  who  may  the  pussen 
be?" 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  117 

"A'tween  ourselves,  no  other  man  than 
Ben  Lupin." 

"  Ben  Lupin !  Well,  I  niver.  I've  always 
heard  folks  say  he  poached." 

"  'Tiddn't  poaching,"  Spong  answered  with 
gravity  befitting  the  disclosure  he  was  about 
to  make.  "'Tis  sommat  a  long  way  wuss 
than  poaching." 

"  Dear,  dear  ! " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  during  which 
Spong  drained  his  glass  and  set  it  back  on 
the  table  with  a  bang. 

*'  'Tis  bigamy,"  he  exclaimed  in  an  im- 
pressive whisper. 

The  widow  threw  up  her  hands. 
"  Heaven  presarve  us ! "  she  ejaculated. 
"And  Luce  that  I've  known  from  a  child, 
and  her  a  mother.  I  be  more  sorry  than  I 
can  zay.  But  howiver  did  you  come  to  larn 
sich  a  thing  ?  That's  what  I  should  like  to 
knaw." 

Thus  adjured,  Spong  related  the  whole 
story,  from  beginning  to  end.  Barely  had 


118  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

he  finished  before  the  constable  woke  up, 
and  remarked  that  he  believed  that  he  must 
have  been  asleep.  "  But,"  he  said,  "  he  cud 
smell  liquor  all  droo  his  dreams." 

This  last  statement  brought  a  smile  once 
more  to  the  widow's  face.  She  fetched  an 
extra  glass,  and  when  Constable  Garge  had 
drunk  to  the  "Health,  happiness,  and 
general  good  sense  o'  the  company,"  the 
party  broke  up;  the  two  rivals  returning 
home,  and  the  widow,  sighing  more  than 
once  over  the  contrariness  of  things  that 
allowed  the  Ben  Lupins  of  this  world  to 
ruin  the  lives  of  honest,  self-respecting 
women,  lit  her  candle  and  retired  upstairs 
to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ON  the  hill  above  the  White  Cottage,  and 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  village 
stood  Bellow  House,  generally  known  as  the 
Great  House.  It  was  a  big,  rambling  grey 
stone  building,  exposed  on  all  sides  except 
the  north,  where  the  wind  was  planted  out 
by  a  larch  wood.  A  stranger  approaching 
from  the  road  never  lost  sight  of  the  house, 
which  stared  at  him  down  the  bare  hill 
slopes  as  if  it  had  no  secrets  to  hide,  and 
expected  a  like  frankness  from  all  comers. 
There  was  a  touch  of  the  same  sentiment 
about  the  old  Squire,  who  loved  a  plain  fact 
plainly  told,  and  was  liberal  of  everything 
except  speech.  It  was  to  the  Squire  that 
Mark  now  turned.  Once  having  made  up 
his  mind  to  reveal  the  secret,  he  anticipated 

119 


120  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

scant  difficulty  in  putting  his  decision  into 
practice,  yet,  when  he  passed  the  cottage  on 
his  way  to  the  Great  House  a  curious  un- 
easiness took  possession  of  him,  and  he 
wished  his  errand  well  over  and  himself  well 
out  of  it 

Luce  was  seated  beneath  the  low, 
thatched  porch,  sewing,  and  the  baby, 
asleep,  lay  stretched  out  upon  her  knees. 
She  glanced  up  at  Mark's  approach  and 
beckoned  to  him.  He  passed  on,  taking  no 
notice ;  then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  in- 
tention, turned  and  came  back  and  stood 
leaning  across  the  wicket  gate.  A  big 
apple-tree  all  a-blow  with  bees  and  blossom 
thrust  its  scent  between  him  and  the  house 
and  seemed  in  some  subtle  way  to  personify 
the  sweet  fragrance  of  the  home  it  shel- 
tered. 

The  peacefulness  of  the  scene  struck 
the  young  fisherman  as  being  unnatural, 
uncalled  for — he  could  not  '  harmonize  it 
with  the  errand  on  which  he  was  bent. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  121 

Pushing  open  the  gate,  he  came  close  to 
Luce,  scanning  her  face;  surely  Lupin's 
love  must  have  stamped  its  desecration 
there.  She  raised  her  eyes;  pity,  tender- 
ness, affection,  were  all  in  the  gaze  she 
returned  to  his.  He  tried  to  pierce  deeper 
to  the  well-spring  of  her  being,  but  of  that 
which  he  sought  he  could  find  no  trace. 
Bitter  disappointment  filled  him,  it  was  to 
be  his  sacred  right  and  duty  to  rehabilitate 
this  woman  in  her  own  eyes  and  in  the 
world's,  to  wipe  away  the  stains  from  her 
motherhood  with  his  own  good  name,  and 
she  seemed  so  unconscious  of  the  hard 
straits  she  was  in,  that  she  half  led  him  to 
doubt  her  need  of  help.  He  glanced  from 
her  to  the  interior  of  the  scantily  furnished 
kitchen,  and  realized,  not  without  pride, 
that  it  would  have  looked  less  bare  had  he 
been  master,  for  he  had  put  by  a  full  fifty 
pounds  so  that  his  wife  should  never  have 
cause  to  hang  down  her  head  before  her 
neighbours. 


122  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

Luce  had  known  of  this  store,  for  week 
by  week  as  he  had  added  his  bits  of  money 
to  the  heap  in  the  small  iron-clamped 
money-box,  he  had  told  her  the  exact 
sum  the  chest  contained,  and  would  make 
her  take  it  out  and  count  it  afresh  for 
the  mere  pleasure  that  the  click-click  of 
the  coin  gave  him — often  too,  he  had  been 
vexed  because  she  had  not  shown  a  similar 
enthusiasm. 

The  thought  came  to  him  that  poverty 
was  a  fine  sharpener  of  men's  appetites, 
and  that  Luce,  having  gone  hungry,  would 
have  a  keen  taste  for  the  once  despised 
gold.  A  half  smile  crossed  his  lips  as  he 
turned  and  looked  down  at  her ;  there  was 
sweetness  in  gratifying  the  needs  of  this 
woman  who,  up  till  now,  had  seemed  to 
have  scant  needs  to  gratify. 

"  Luce,"  he  said,  "  I  have  they  fifty 
pounds  by  me  still." 

She  smiled  across  at  him,  only  half  grasp- 
ing his  meaning. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  123 

"  What  fifty  pounds  be  thic  ? "  she  asked. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  while  Mark 
tried  ineffectually  to  smother  his  resentment 
at  her  lack  of  comprehension.  He  had  im- 
agined her  tracking  him  thought  by  thought, 
and,  as  it  were,  fingering  the  money  over  and 
over  in  her  mind. 

"  The  lil'  place  looks  half  starved,"  he  ex- 
claimed contemptuously. 

She  did  not  answer,  but,  bending  down, 
kissed  the  sleeping  child.  His  face  con- 
tracted, anger  and  misery  fought  for  posses- 
sion of  his  heart. 

"  Do  you  love  the  chile  ?  "  he  asked  in  a 
rough  voice. 

She  rose  and  laid  the  baby  in  the  cradle 
before  replying. 

"  Lad,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand  upon  his 
arm,  "  do  be  friends  wi'  me,  do,  and  then  I 
do  think  I  shall  have  nothing  left  to  wish 
for." 

"  Friends,"  he  repeated,  shaking  himself 
free.  "  Who  cares  aught  for  sich  ez  thic  ?  " 


124  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

An  expression  half  sad,  half  tender,  came 
into  her  face. 

"  Us  wor  niver  more'n  friends,  Mark,"  she 
answered  gently ;  "  but  us  have  been  friends 
iver  since  us  wor  childer." 

His  heart  rose  in  rebellion  against  her.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  she  was  trying  to  cheapen 
his  love,  to  class  it  out  from  being  love  at  all. 

"  Tis  zommat  a  mort  different  from  thic 
that  I  veel  for  'ee,  and  you  know  it,"  he  re- 
plied. 

She  turned  from  him  to  the  open  window. 
"  Zims  ez  if  you  must  be  mistook,  lad,"  she 
said  softly. 

He  did  not  answer.  The  pity  which  filled 
him  a  few  short  moments  back  had  departed, 
and  in  its  place  a  dull  anger  burnt  in  his 
heart.  For  the  first  time  the  desire  came  to 
him  to  punish  this  woman  who  was  so  indif- 
ferent to  his  love,  to  teach  her  through  suffer- 
ing the  lesson  that  kindness  failed  to  instil. 

"  I  must  be  gwaying,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I've 
zommat  to  zay  to  the  Squire  up  to  the  Great 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  125 

House.  Maybe  you  and  Lupin  '11  have  cause 
to  hear  o'  me  agaio,"  and  swinging  round  on 
his  heel,  he  left  the  cottage. 

He  did  not  regret  having  spoken  thus  has- 
tily, the  blood  burned  too  hot  in  his  heart 
and  brain  for  regret  to  find  a  place  there,  and 
yet  he  had  meant  to  keep  his  visit  to  the 
Great  House  a  secret  between  the  old  Squire 
and  himself.  On  he  went,  nursing  his  anger, 
drawing  quick  visions  of  the  future  when 
Luce  should  have  learned  at  last  to  distin- 
guish the  sham  Lupin  from  the  real  man. 
Bared  to  his  sins,  Ben  Lupin  would  be  ugly 
showing.  Mark  gloried  in  the  thought  of 
the  revelation  that  was  in  store ;  he  would 
not  have  rung  down  the  curtain  now  for  the 
plaudits  of  God  and  man — the  stage  was  set, 
the  actor  had  but  to  walk  on. 

Pushing  back  the  gate,  Mark  entered  Bel- 
low grounds ;  then,  for  no  apparent  reason, 
his  mood  changed,  his  anger  died,  and  he  was 
possessed  by  chill  foreboding.  A  distaste 
seized  him  for  the  bare  hill  slopes  against 


126  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

which  every  object  showed  prominently,  and 
the  first  glance  at  which  sufficed  to  reveal 
that  he  was  not  the  only  man  that  had  busi- 
ness with  the  Squire  that  morning.  Ahead, 
marching  up  the  drive  with  a  fine  disregard 
of  the  fact  that  his  gigantic  body  jutted  out 
in  high  relief,  was  Constable  Garge.  A  pang 
of  envy  shot  through  Mark.  A  sudden  ques- 
tion leaped  into  his  mind.  He  knew  well 
that  this  man  had  often  been  called  upon  to 
denounce  the  guilty:  on  this  morning  the 
constable's  errand  and  his  own  might  not  be 
dissimilar.  "  What  then,"  he  asked  himself, 
"  made  the  man  so  at  ease  ? "  No  sense  of 
secret  shame  seemed  to  cling  to  him;  he 
walked  with  the  free  gait  of  the  honest. 

Unconsciously,  the  young  fisherman  turned 
sea-wards — a  longing  came  to  him  to  be  out 
among  the  big,  broad-breasted  waves  and 
feel  the  sharp  lick  of  their  tongues  upon  his 
face.  He  would  be  at  ease  out  there,  would 
feel  no  doubt  as  to  the  issue,  and  yet  he  had 
had  many  a  hard  tussle  with  the  sea  when 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  127 

neither  knew  whether  they  fought  as  friends 
or  foes. 

He  stood  for  a  long  time  staring  across 
the  water,  his  eyes  following  a  track  of  light 
till  it  vanished  in  the  curves  of  the  horizon. 
Often  when  a  child,  he  had  dreamed  of  that 
track  of  light,  and,  waking  to  find  darkness 
lying  on  everything,  would  make  believe  that 
the  broad  gold  band  was  still  without,  rib' 
boning  the  whole  earth.  Other  dreams  re- 
turned to  him  till  his  heart  grew  heavy  with 
the  weight  of  them.  What  had  manhood 
brought  to  be  compared  to  those  boyish  vis- 
ions that  had  struck  out  towards  the  un- 
known future  in  just  such  another  long  gold 
track  of  light  ?  Thinking  of  childhood,  its 
hopes,  desires,  its  straining  towards  the  no- 
bler, a  distrust  of  himself  as  he  now  was 
came  to  him.  It  was  as  if  the  child,  return- 
ing again  and  taking  on  the  flesh  of  the  man, 
found  the  garment  unhallowed.  Mark  gazed 
into  his  heart  with  clear-seeing  eyes  and 
shuddered  at  what  he  saw ;  for  a  brief  mo- 


128  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

ment,  that  seemed  to  stretch  on  for  years, 
he  was  permitted  to  stand  face  to  face  with 
his  own  spirit — bent,  distorted,  shrivelled, 
maimed,  it  cried  to  him  through  dumb  lips 
for  more  light,  more  room  to  expand,  to 
grow — it  could  not  breathe  in  the  sodden 
air  of  his  desires. 

Far  below,  at  the  hill's  foot,  stood  the 
White  Cottage.  He  glanced  from  it  to  the 
Great  House  and,  doing  so,  a  question  shot 
through  his  mind.  Should  he  go  back  be- 
fore it  was  too  late,  leave  his  errand  undone, 
and  Lupin  to  other  hands  for  punishment? 
This  respectability  that  he  would  force  on 
the  woman  he  loved  at  the  cost  of  discredit- 
ing her  in  the  world's  eyes  and  her  own, 
what  was  it  but  the  desire  to  drive  her  into 
marriage  with  himself?  Was  there,  then, 
no  price  too  high  for  her  to  pay  for  the 
satisfying  of  his  need  of  her  ?  Surely,  sure- 
ly, he  had  seen  the  matter  in  another  light 
than  that;  it  was  for  her  he  was  fighting, 
not  for  himself. 


THE  WHITE   COTTAGE  129 

Once  unbound,  however,  the  eyes  of  his 
conscience  refused  to  be  bandaged  back  from 
seeing,  nor  could  he  again  deceive  himself. 
He  had  reached  the  parting  of  the  ways, 
and  the  Mark  Tavy  that  he  loved  so  well — 
the  Mark  who  had  stood  by  the  Almighty 
when  the  Almighty  had  been  loath  to  stand 
by  him,  was  about  to  plant  his  foot  on  the 
wrong  road.  Slowly  the  beads  of  sweat 
gathered  on  the  young  fisherman's  forehead. 
How  often  had  he  not  taken  it  as  some 
sweet-scented  garment  to  cover  the  naked- 
ness of  his  many  failures !  We  can  all  sin, 
but  we  cannot  afford  to  count  the  cost  be- 
forehand, and  Mark  flung  aside  the  reckon- 
ing lest,  when  the  day  of  payment  arrived, 
he  should  have  already  paid  full  measure 
and  running  over. 

Thrusting  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  he 
hurried  forward.  If  this  thing  was  to  be 
done,  then  let  him  get  the  strain  of  waiting 
off  his  mind.  A  few  minutes  later  he  was 
in  the  presence  of  the  Squire  who  sat  leaning 


130  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

far  back  in  his  chair,  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
pressed  together,  his  brow  creased  in 
thought.  He  paid  no  heed  to  Mark,  ap- 
pearing unaware  of  his  presence.  Cap  in 
hand,  the  young  fisherman  stood  looking 
down  at  the  short,  thick-set  figure,  awaiting 
the  moment  when  he  should  receive  permis- 
sion to  explain  his  errand.  The  speech 
which  he  had  prepared  beforehand  seemed 
to  tickle  his  tongue,  and  he  had  a  ridiculous 
fear  lest,  at  some  unexpected  noise,  the 
words  might  bob  off,  leaving  their  import  to 
take  care  of  itself.  As  the  moments  ticked 
slowly  past,  the  strain  of  the  long  drawn-out 
silence  became  almost  unbearable  to  him. 

At  last  the  Squire  raised  his  head  and  sent 
a  cold,  questioning  glance  across  at  the  young 
fisherman. 

"Well?  "he  said. 

There  was  no  reply  from  Mark,  his  care- 
fully prepared  speech  seemed  nailed  to  his 
tongue  and  as  devoid  of  meaning  as  a  scare- 
crow left  in  a  field  when  the  ripened  corn 


THE  WHITE   COTTAGE  131 

has  been  cut  and  carried.  At  last  he  found 
words. 

"  I've  always,"  he  exclaimed,  "  acted  up- 
right and  God-fearing."  He  stopped  short, 
bewildered,  he  had  come  to  indict  Ben  Lupin, 
not  to  vindicate  himself. 

The  Squire  raised  his  eyebrows  but  made 
no  comment,  and  Mark — anger,  jealousy,  bit- 
terness, the  need  of  Luce's  love  and  the  fear 
of  parting  with  self-respect  making  a  strange 
turmoil  in  his  heart — stood  looking  at  this 
imperturbable  old  man,  who,  unmoved  and 
critical,  gazed  back  at  him  and  seemed  in 
some  subtle  way  to  represent  Mark's  own 
long  dormant  conscience.  A  craving  for  help 
came  to  Mark,  and  he  stretched  out  his  hand 
as  one  seeking  support. 

"Sir,"  he  said  thickly,  "if  a  man  had 
acted  black  to  'ee  and  you  had  it  in  your 
power  to  do  the  same  by  'un,  what  wud  'ee 
do?" 

The  question,  thrust  so  unexpectedly  upon 
him,  startled  the  Squire;  he  sat  up  and 


132  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

waited  a  moment  before  answering.  A  slow 
smile  crossed  his  face. 

"Well,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  know  what  I 
should  be  inclined  to  do." 

Mark  wasted  no  time  upon  the  answer. 

"  Sir,"  he  continued,  "  s'posing  thickey 
man  had  robbed  'ee  of  the  wan  woman  that 
wor  dear  to  'ee,  and  s'posing  the  law  wor  on 
your  side  to  give  her  back  to  'ee  agin,  an' 
s'posing — he  stopped  short  and  turned  his 
white  haggard  face  away  from  the  Squire 
towards  the  wind-swept  sea — "lier  wor  to 
veel  honester  left  ez  her  wor — what  wud  'ee 
do  then,  sir?  Wud  'ee  fo'ce  her  to  take 
shelter  wi'  'ee  ?  " 

The  August  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens 
and  the  hush  of  summer  lay  upon  every- 
thing ;  thrush,  blackbird  and  woodlark  were 
all  silent,  waiting  for  mellow  September  to 
resume  their  song.  There  was  a  long  pause. 
The  Squire  rose  and  came  to  where  Mark 
was  standing. 

"  My  lad,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  133 

young  fellow's  arm,  "  you  have  given  me  a 
tough  question,  but  I  think  you  and  I  are  of 
the  same  opinion  as  to  the  answer." 

*"  And  what  be  thic,  sir  ? "  Mark  asked 
breathlessly. 

"To  leave  her  where  she  felt  most  shel- 
tered," replied  the  Squire  in  a  low  voice. 

A  silence  ensued,  so  beaten  upon  by 
thought  that  it  seemed  to  both  men  the  air 
was  full  of  sound. 

"  But,"  -exclaimed  Mark  at  last,  "  you  for- 
git,  sir,  that  the  law  be  on  my  side.  You 
wudn't  have  me  bide  quiet  and  zee  the  law 
put  to  nought  ?  " 

The  old  magistrate  smiled  grimly.  "It 
strikes  you  as  strange  advice  coming  from 
my  lips,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  cud  give  her  an  honest  name,  sir.  'Tis 
just  thic." 

"  And  would  she  take  it  from  you  ?  " 

Mark  was  silent.  The  question  seemed  so 
simple  and  yet  so  cruel. 

"  I've  loved  her  ever  since  her  wor  a  snip 


134  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

o'  a  chile,"  he  said  at  last.  Then,  turning 
away,  he  left  the  house  without  further  pro- 
test. Dazed  and  startled,  he  could  neither 
understand  himself  nor  the  Squire.  Why 
had  he  not  told  his  tale — and  yet  he  felt  glad 
that  he  had  not  told  it,  but  his  heart  was  sore 
because  Luce  could  never  know  how  much 
the  silence  had  cost  him. 

After  a  while  he  drew  near  the  White 
Cottage  once  more ;  the  soft  crooning  notes 
of  a  woman  singing  to  her  child  floated  to 
him  through  the  open  window.  Mark  flung 
himself  down  beside  the  hedge.  Seated  on 
a  stone,  between  him  and  the  house,  and  to 
all  appearance  fast  asleep,  was  Constable 
Garge.  His  stolid  form  swayed  from  side 
to  side,  rocked,  it  might  be,  by  its  own  in- 
ertia. Mark,  listening  to  the  woman's  voice, 
paid  no  heed  to  aught  else ;  peace,  to  which 
he  had  long  been  a  stranger,  stole  in  upon 
him.  He  stretched  out  his  arms ;  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  protecting  Luce,  fencing 
round  her  happiness  with  the  hopes  torn 


from  his  own  heart.  She  could  never  now 
be  his,  yet  never  had  she  felt  more  near  to 
him. 

And  she,  unconscious  of  his  presence,  sang 
to  her  child. 

When  many  moments  had  passed,  Ben 
Lupin,  a  basket  of  fish  slung  across  his 
shoulder,  came  up  the  steep  path  by  the 
clifE.  At  the  sound  of  his  all  but  noiseless 
tread,  Constable  Garge  awoke,  and,  rising, 
laid  his  hand  upon  Lupin's  arm  and  whis- 
pered something  in  his  ear.  Lupin  reeled 
forward,  then,  recovering  himself,  the  two 
men  stood  confronting  each  other. 

"  Who  told  'ee  that  I  had  another  wife  ? " 
he  asked. 

The  soft  crooning  song  floated  out  through 
the  open  window.  Constable  Garge  listened 
uneasily.  Stooping,  he  picked  up  the  basket 
of  fish  that  had  fallen  to  the  ground. 

"  Wull  'ee  go  in  and  tull  Luce  ?  "  he  asked, 
pointing  towards  the  cottage ;  and  Lupin 
went  in. 


136  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  Mark  cov- 
ered his  ears  with  his  hands  and  lay  listen- 
ing, listening.  He  did  not  know  for  what 
he  listened,  but,  through  the  still  air  came 
the  cry  as  of  a  woman  stricken  unto  death. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHEN  Lupin  entered  the  cottage  in  search 
of  Luce,  he  found  her  seated  in  a  corner  of 
the  old  wooden  settle,  the  baby  stretched  out 
upon  her  knees.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  at  them,  unobserved :  the  woman, 
pale  from  her  recent  illness  yet  with  a  cer- 
tain indescribable  charm  added  to  her 
beauty;  the  child,  small,  puckered,  pink, 
and  but  for  the  fact  that  it  formed  a  neces- 
sary complement  of  the  picture,  so  hideous. 
A  broad  ray  of  light  fell,  cutting  them  off 
from  the  rest  of  the  world;  and  they,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  joy  of  living,  recked  little  of 
any  existence  outside  their  own. 

To  Ben  Lupin  standing  there,  they  did  not 
seem  apart,  but  rather  as  the  sweet  presence 
chamber  of  his  well-being,  outside  of  which 
his  happiness  could  not  stray.  Dumbly  he 

137 


138  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

struggled  with  the  message  he  had  to  de- 
liver; the  coined  speech  of  the  world  he  had 
just  quitted  had  no  currency  in  this,  its 
logic  no  place,  its  facts  no  correlation ;  only 
the  tall  clock,  ticking  on,  joined  with  each 
sweep  of  the  pendulum  these  two  diverse 
worlds,  subjecting  each  alike  to  the  inexora- 
ble law  of  change.  Raising  his  eyes,  Lupin 
fixed  them  on  the  familiar  white  disc,  where 
the  moon,  masquerading  as  a  forlorn  maiden, 
gazed  down  upon  a  bold  and  pink-faced 
world.  There  seemed  to  him  something  pe- 
culiarly cruel  in  the  conduct  of  this  old 
friend,  thus  refusing  to  stay  its  course, 
marching  forward  indifferent  to  the  fact 
that  the  moments  it  was  now  called  upon 
to  measure,  were  not  ordinary  moments  but 
precious  beyond  compare.  The  tall  clock 
ticked  on,  each  beat  louder  than  the  last, 
till  Lupin  glanced  behind  him  thinking  that 
he  heard  the  step  of  Constable  Garge.  But 
the  door  was  closed,  and  the  burly  figure  of 
the  constable  remained  outside.  How  long 


THE  WHITE   COTTAGE  139 

though  would  he  consent  to  wait?  What 
was  the  measure  of  his  patience  ?  Lupin 
had  lost  count  of  time,  and  could  not  tell 
if  hours  or  but  a  few  scant  moments  had 
elapsed  since  he  had  entered  the  cottage. 

A  pressed  feeling  beset  him,  he  had  so 
much  to  say,  so  short  a  time  to  say  it  in. 
There  was  something  almost  grotesque  in  this 
sudden  need  for  haste;  hitherto  Time  had 
been  his  tool,  now  it  appeared  that  he  must 
play  the  part  of  tool  to  Time.  Speech  had 
always  come  easily  to  Lupin,  but  the  task  of 
shattering  his  own  image  in  Luce's  heart  was 
too  hard,  and  words  failed  him.  He  was 
filled  with  regret  that  he  had  taken  such 
small  pains  at  school.  After  all,  it  appeared 
that  learning  was  not  to  be  despised  and  might 
stand  a  man  in  good  stead  who  was  in  sore 
need  of  help.  He  moved  nearer,  and  she 
raised  her  head  and  smiled.  A  sudden  dark- 
ness fell  upon  him,  and  he  stumbled  forward 
as  one  blind.  Rising  quickly,  Luce  caught 
his  hand. 


140  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

"Your  vingers  be  stone  cold,"  she  ex- 
claimed in  a  startled  voice.  "  What  do  make 
'em  so  cold  ?  You  be  veeling  bad,  lad.  I 
do  be  zure  that  you  be  veeling  bad." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  'tiddn't  thic." 

"  Ah,  but  'tis,"  she  said.  "  You  niver  take 
no  care  of  yerzulf,  and  half  your  time  your 
clothes  is  wringing  wet.  'Tis  a  wonder  you 
haven't  caught  your  death  o'  chill  before 
this." 

Impatience  filled  him  because  she  failed  to 
understand. 

"  You  were  always  a  slow  zee-er,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Speech  be  more  helpful  to  'ee  than 
sight." 

She  rubbed  his  hands  with  her  soft  warm 
fingers.  "  I  know  I  be  slow  in  the  up-take." 

Lupin  did  not  reply,  but  sat  down  on  the 
settle,  resting  his  head  against  one  of  the 
rickety  arms.  "  I  wish  I  wor  more  o'  a  schol- 
ard,"  he  exclaimed  at  last.  "  Wuds  come 
easy  to  sich." 

The  expression  of  Luce's  face  grew  troub- 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  141 

led.  "  Why  do  'ee  need  to  be  picking  and 
choosing  your  wuds  all  to-wance  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Speech  always  fitted  things  wi'  me  afore," 
he  said  querulously. 

"  You  have  a  tongue  and  a  way  with  it," 
she  answered,  smiling.  "  Toll,  lad,  tull  on." 

He  was  silent  a  long  time.  "  There  be  the 
wuds  that  'ud  tell  'ee,  but  I  can't  bring  'em 
to  mind,"  he  exclaimed,  looking  up  at  her 
despairingly.  "  They  be  simple  wuds  anuff, 
nought  upstanding  about  'em." 

Laying  the  baby  back  in  its  cradle,  Luce 
came  and  knelt  in  front  of  Lupin,  taking 
both  his  hands  in  hers.  A  smile,  half  sad, 
half  humorous,  and  wholly  tender,  played 
across  her  face  as  she  looked  at  this  strong 
man  and  spoke  to  him  much  as  she  would  to 
a  naughty  child. 

"  Now  what  is  it  you've  been  and  done, 
Ben  ?  "  she  asked ;  "  zome  banging  girt  vool- 
ishness  that  you  be  moast  ashamed  to  let  on 
about.  Jest  tull  me  what  'tis  right  'way  and 
ha'  done  wi'  it.  You  knaw  wull  that  you  be 


142  THE  WHITE   COTTAGE 

always  a  deal  easier  in  your  own  mind  when 
you  ha'  zed  things  out." 

Lupin  had  always  been  peculiarly  sensitive 
to  this  woman's  tenderness,  though  he  re- 
sented the  same  quality  in  others  ;  but  to-day 
it  seemed  but  to  make  the  task  before  him 
more  hard  and  bitter. 

"  You  wudn't  talk  like  thic  if  you  knawed 
all,"  he  said. 

"  Tail,  lad,  tull,  it  makes  me  scart  to  hear 
'ee  speak  so." 

He  drew  himself  together,  and  the  old 
dare-devil  expression,  which  his  face  had  lost 
of  late,  returned.  "  'Tis  just  that  us  have 
got  to  part,"  he  exclaimed. 

She  made  no  comment,  and  he  continued 
harshly,  surprised  that  the  words  he  had 
long  sought  seemed  suddenly  at  hand,  and 
hastening,  lest  they  and  his  courage  should 
fail  him. 

"  111  come  back  to  'ee  when  I've  served  my 
time;  they  can  put  me  in  prison,  but  they 
can't  keep  me  for  iver.  'Tis  true  anuff  that 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  143 

you  iddn't  no  wife  o'  mine,  the  way  the  law 
hez  it,  but  I  niver  cared  for  t'other  woman 
the  zame  as  I  do  for  'ee  ! " 

She  gazed  dully  at  him,  and  he  saw  with 
despair  that  she  had  not  understood  him,  and 
searched  his  mind  for  words  to  make  his 
meaning  clearer. 

Stating  the  truth  at  last  in  all  its  bald, 
brutal  simplicity  and  nakedness :  "  That 
woman,"  he  said,  "  that  tall  stranger  woman 
that  corned  in  here  the  day  our  chile  wor 
borned,  her  be  my  wife." 

Then  Luce  understood,  and  her  woman- 
hood rent  itself  with  one  long  protesting  cry. 
Hurriedly,  Lupin  took  her  in  his  arms;  she  lay 
against  his  breast,  her  heart  beat  on  his  heart, 
and  he  felt  the  slow  receding  of  her  love 
from  him  as  a  great  physical  agony  that  could 
not  be  borne.  He  clasped  her  more  close. 

"  Us  be  the  zame  ez  us  wor  afore,"  he  said ; 
"  the  law  can't  wark  no  difference  :  the  law 
can  take  me  away  from  'ee  now,  but  it  can't 
keep  us  apart  for  iver." 


144  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

Unconsciously  he  raised  his  voice,  speak- 
ing, as  a  man  speaks  to  some  one  far  off. 
Constable  Garge,  waiting  without,  grew  im- 
patient at  the  long  delay,  and  coming  to  the 
door,  knocked  loudly.  At  the  sound  Lupin 
rose,  carried  Luce  into  the  inner  room,  laid 
her  on  the  bed,  and  she  turned  her  face  from 
him,  hiding  it  in  the  pillows.  He  took  one 
of  her  limp,  nerveless  hands  and  clasped  it 
tight  between  his  own. 

"They  be  come  to  fetch  me  away.  Zay 
zommat,  Luce,  afore  I  go,"  he  asked  beseech- 
ingly- 

She  did  not  answer  him. 

"  Zay  zommat,"  he  repeated.  "  I  wull 
come  back  to  'ee,  and  things  'ull  be  the  zame 
ez  they  wor  afore." 

But  still  she  did  not  reply. 

He  flung  himself  down  beside  her  on  the 
bed.  "I  must  be  leaving  'ee,  dear  heart. 
Don't  'ee  understand  that  I  must  be  leaving 
'ee  ?  They've  come  for  me.  They  be  gway- 
ing  to  take  me  to  gaol.  When  diminet  vails 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  145 

and  the  sea  comes  creeping  in  you'll  be  here 
all  by  yerzulf.  You'll  miss  your  lad,  Luce, 
zay  that  you'll  miss  your  lad.  I  knaw  I  ain't 
acted  rightful,  but  I  niver  loved  t'other 
woman  the  zame  ez  I  love  'ee.  Zay  zommat, 
Luce,  zay  zommat." 

Coiling  herself  together,  she  shivered.  He 
waited  for  an  answer,  but  none  came.  Then 
in  despair,  he  rose,  and  casting  one  last  glance 
at  the  small  shrinking  form,  he  left  her,  and 
going  out  gave  himself  up  to  Constable 
Garge,  who,  for  safety's  sake,  clapped  the 
handcuffs  on  his  wrists,  for  after  all  it  does 
not  do  to  sacrifice  too  much  to  neighbourly 
feeling. 

So  the  two  men  walked  in  silence  past 
Myrtles'  cottage  and  "The  Fisherman's 
Desire,"  and  up  the  long,  winding  street. 
Seeing  them,  the  villagers  trooped  out  of 
their  houses,  flung  questions,  but  Constable 
Garge,  marching  very  upright,  answered 
never  a  word;  and  Lupin  listening  for 
Luce's  voice,  for  the  sound  of  her  hurry- 


146  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

ing  steps,  was  deaf  to  all  else.  The  street 
ceased,  and  was  replaced  by  a  lane,  wind- 
ing between  high  hedges  to  the  market 
town.  Lupin  glanced  behind,  but  the  road 
lay  as  bare  as  the  walls  of  the  cell  in 
which  he  was  locked  later.  But  it  was 
there,  when  night  fell,  that  the  Luce  he 
had  waited  for  came  to  him.  He  had 
fallen  asleep  and  he  saw  her  in  his 
dreams:  she  strove  with  all  her  strength 
to  raise  the  weight  that  lay  as  a  stone 
upon  his  heart,  but  for  that  she  had  not 
the  power.  When  he  awoke  she  was 
there  no  longer.  Neither  was  she  present 
at  his  trial,  when  he  was  tried  for  bigamy, 
found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  be  im- 
prisoned for  five  years.  Yet  ever  with 
his  dreams  she  would  return  and  strive 
to  roll  away  the  stone  from  his  heart, 
till  at  last,  the  years  passing  on,  the  stone 
sank  into  his  heart  and  became,  as  it  were, 
the  heart  itself;  then  she  ceased  to  visit 
him,  for  what  good  lay  in  such  coming. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  feeling  of  the  villagers,  on  learn- 
ing the  reason  of  Ben  Lupin's  arrest,  was 
one  of  genuine  pity  for  the  girl  he  had 
betrayed,  mixed  with  a  strong  sense  of 
what  was  due  to  themselves  as  neigh- 
bours ;  for,  if  Luce  had  been  deceived,  it 
was  certain  that  the  people  of  Bere-Upton 
had  been  no  less  so.  Indeed,  when  they 
came  to  talk  the  matter  over  quietly,  they 
were  inclined  to  think  that  the  deception 
practised  on  them  had  been  more  gross. 

It  was  perhaps  this,  taken  with  the  fact 
that  the  real  culprit  was  safely  locked  out 
of  the  way  in  gaol,  that  served  more  than 
anything  to  curb  in  their  sympathy,  and 
led  by  short  and  easy  stages  to  their  con- 
sidering Luce,  if  not  the  chief  delinquent, 
at  least  as  willing  accomplice  after  the 

147 


148  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

act.  They  did  not,  however,  include  the 
girl's  parents  in  their  condemnation.  In- 
deed, Mrs.  Myrtle  was  an  object  of  general 
sympathy,  coming  as  she  did  from  good 
stock,  and  meeting  her  trouble  in  so 
genteel  a  fashion  that  one  of  the  villagers 
observed :  "  It  was  a  lesson  in  good 
manners  only  to  see  her." 

The  impression  was  perhaps  the  more 
marked  because  Luce's  mother,  while  ex- 
tracting the  subtle  essence  from  the  sym- 
pathy extended  to  her,  made  it  apparent 
that  the  occasion  was  not  one  for  con- 
dolence, nor  would  condolence  be  accepted. 
Indeed,  it  would  have  taken  a  person  of 
sturdy  faith  in  the  stoutness  of  their  own 
legs  to  venture  forth  on  such  an  errand, 
and  only  one  was  known  to  have  at- 
tempted it,  and  she  was  a  chapelite,  and 
kept  a  fine  stock  of  spiritual  pride  as  a 
salve  for  sore  limbs. 

Mrs.  Myrtle's  temporal  blend,  however, 
proved  more  than  a  match  for  the  latter  in 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  149 

the  combat  that  ensued.  She  had  received 
her  visitor  in  the  silk  dress  reserved  for  Sun- 
days and  festivals.  The  bodice,  cut  long  in 
front,  and  insufficiently  stiffened,  had  a  trick 
of  doubling  back  upon  its  wearer  whenever 
she  assumed  a  sitting  attitude,  obliging  her 
husband,  John  Myrtle,  who,  if  slow  was  sure, 
to  lean  forward  and  press  it  into  place  with  a 
click  Thus  gowned,  Luce's  mother  produced 
such  an  impression  on  her  visitor  that  the 
latter  contracted  a  distaste  for  whalebone  and 
silks  as  productive  of  an  unnatural  "  up-lift " 
to  pride  when  found  in  combination. 

Good  birth — like  murder — will  out,  and 
nothing  at  this  point  could  afford  a  more 
striking  contrast  than  the  behaviour  of  John 
Myrtle  and  his  wife;  but  then,  all  the  world 
knew  that  he  had  been  a  work-'us  lad  with 
no  parents  to  speak  of.  There  was  an  unre- 
strained sincerity  about  his  grief  that  made 
it,  to  the  critical  taste  of  the  village,  almost 
vulgar. 

He  sat  by  the  kitchen  sink,  unwashed,  yet 


150  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

within  reach  of  water,  his  great,  hairy  chest 
exposed,  and  shaken  by  tearless  sobs.  "  'Twor 
a  throw-back  to  his  mother,"  the  villagers 
said,  who,  to  her  shame,  had  been  deceived 
and  cast  upon  the  streets. 

The  White  Cottage  stood  alone,  but  some 
little  distance  away  was  a  small,  slate-roofed 
house,  from  the  upper  windows  of  which  a 
view  of  the  cottage  could  be  obtained.  Here 
it  was  that  those  villagers  who  had  nothing 
better  to  do  betook  themselves,  being  desirous 
of  noting  the  number  of  Luce's  visitors.  This 
required  but  little  arithmetical  skill,  for, 
though  the  door  of  the  White  Cottage  stood 
wide  open,  no  one  went  either  in  or  out. 

After  some  time,  however,  Septimus  Spong 
came  slowly  down  the  lane,  bearing  on  his 
arm  a  basket  of  kidney  beans  which  he  in- 
tended to  present  to  Luce.  At  once  a  num- 
ber of  curious  eyes  were  turned  in  his  direc- 
tion, and  one  of  the  villagers  went  so  far  as 
to  call  out  and  ask  him  where  he  was  going. 
Spong  seemed  to  find  this  sudden  interest  in 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  151 

his  movements  embarrassing;  he  slackened 
pace,  then,  stopping  short,  stared  shame- 
facedly at  the  open  door  of  the  White  Cot- 
tage. His  hesitation  only  served  to  increase 
the  interest  of  the  onlookers,  and  the  villager 
who  had  previously  addressed  him,  came  out 
on  purpose  to  inquire  the  reason  of  his  inde- 
cision. The  man's  curiosity  was  not  gratified, 
Spong  turning  the  tables  on  the  questioner 
by  asking,  "  Why,  if  he  wor  so  anxious,  he 
didn't  go  in  hiszulf  ? " 

At  this  moment  the  rector  was  seen  ap- 
proaching. The  Kev.  Benjamin  Baugh  was 
an  old  man,  whose  one  remedy  for  the  ills 
that  overtook  his  parishioners  was  the  gift  of 
a  bottle  of  port  wine  and  half  a  crown,  and 
if,  as  it  now  and  again  chanced,  the  cure 
scarce  fitted  the  complaint,  he  was  sore  put 
to  it  to  find  a  better  remedy.  Happily,  how- 
ever, matters  seldom  came  to  so  sore  a  pass, 
and  though  the  villagers  as  a  whole  were  for 
moving  with  the  times,  few  of  them  were  ad- 
vanced enough  to  find  the  rector's  gift  unac- 


152  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

cep table.  Spong  at  once  opened  the  garden 
gate  for  the  rector  to  walk  through,  and  then 
moved,  as  he  explained  later,  by  "  kooriosity," 
he  followed  him  into  the  cottage.  Luce  stood 
by  the  window,  staring  over  the  sea.  She 
paid  no  attention  to  her  visitors'  entrance, 
but  Widow  Flutter,  who  was  nursing  the 
baby,  rose  and  curtseyed. 

The  rector  waved  her  back  into  her  seat, 
and,  drawing  forward  a  chair,  sat  down  in 
front  of  her.  Among  Luce's  few  friends  no 
one,  perhaps,  was  more  genuinely  sorry  for 
her  than  the  Rev.  Benjamin  Baugh,  but  his 
sympathy,  as  with  that  of  so  many  of  us,  got 
sadly  skimped  in  the  expressing.  "  Fe,  fa, 
fo,  ftim,"  he  ejaculated  slowly,  and  raising  a 
red  and  muscular  fore  finger,  he  poked  the 
baby  hard  in  the  ribs  between  each  word. 
There  was  a  brief  pause  while  the  child's 
crimson  face  grew  purple  with  astonishment 
and  pain,  then  it  burst  into  a  yell  of  execra- 
tion. The  rector,  whose  finger  was  already 
poised  for  a  second  series  of  pokes,  drew  back 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  153 

his  chair,  not  a  little  disconcerted  at  the  re- 
turn his  playful  sally  had  met  with;  but 
Widow  Flutter  restored  him  to  equanimity 
by  observing  that  the  child  cried,  "  Because 
it  felt  itzulf  zo  honoured." 

Awakening  from  her  dream,  Luce  came 
forward  and  took  the  baby  herself,  and  as 
she  stood  there  looking  down  with  her  sad, 
serious  eyes  at  the  rector,  a  sudden  uneasi- 
ness seemed  to  fall  on  the  Rev.  Benjamin 
Baugh.  Rising  hastily,  he  bade  her  good- 
day,  and  shuffled  off.  Neither  did  Spong 
linger,  but  when  the  villagers,  tired  of 
watching,  had  returned  to  their  homes,  he 
came  again  and  dug  up  a  patch  of  ground 
that  Lupin  had  left  half-tilled.  It  was  here, 
later  in  the  evening,  that  John  Myrtle  found 
him,  and  the  two  fraternised  in  silence. 
From  time  to  time  the  little  postman  would 
stop  working,  push  his  hat  further  back  on 
his  head  and  wipe  the  sweat  from  his  face 
with  his  sleeve,  and  at  such  moments  John 
Myrtle,  half  rising  from  the  barrow  where 


154  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

he  was  seated,  never  failed  to  spit  on  his 
hands  as  if  he  were  just  about  to  lay  hold 
of  the  vacated  spade,  only  to  relapse  once 
more  back  into  idleness.  After  a  while  he 
left  Spong  and  entered  the  cottage.  Widow 
Flutter,  having  put  things  in  order,  had 
gone  home;  the  child  slept,  lulled  by  the 
sea,  which  was  in  no  mood  to  make  a  dis- 
play. John  Myrtle  found  a  chair  close  to 
the  cradle  and  sat  down.  A  curious  sensa- 
tion came  to  him.  It  was  much  as  if  the 
child  that  lay  there  sleeping  so  unconcern- 
edly were  himself — for  he  too  had  been  a 
child  of  shame:  a  like  indifference  had  filled 
him  in  those  far-off  days ;  he  supped  in  life 
and  waxed  strong,  knowing  only  that  the 
breast  that  fed  him  was  sweet,  and  not  that 
it  covered  an  aching  heart.  Thinking  of  it, 
pitying  tears  for  the  mother  long  since  dead 
darkened  his  eyes;  he  half  longed  that  she 
might  live  again  so  that  he  might  give  her 
now  that  which  he  had  owed  her  then. 
The  dusk  of  a  long  summer  evening  deep- 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  155 

ened  into  night,  and  Luce  came  from  the 
inner  room,  and,  sinking  down  beside  her 
father,  laid  her  head  upon  his  knee.  There, 
in  the  dim  twilight,  he  became  part  bearer 
of  her  sorrow,  suffering,  and  shame.  He 
was  not  a  clever  man,  John  Myrtle,  and  the 
few  times  his  mind  had  been  set  stirring  it 
had  been  by  emotion,  not  thought ;  but  deep 
within,  and  unknown  to  himself,  the  mother 
he  had  long  held  dead  still  lived,  enabling 
him  to  understand  his  daughter's  grief. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  cottage  facing  "The 
Fisherman's  Desire,"  Mrs.  Myrtle  sat  alone. 
Luce  was  not  hurt  at  her  absence,  she  neither 
missed  nor  needed  her.  There  had  been  af- 
fection but  little  sympathy  between  mother 
and  daughter,  and  trouble  served  rather  to 
separate  than  draw  them  together.  Yet 
Mrs.  Myrtle's  heart  was  heavy  enough,  and 
her  eyes  smarted  with  the  unshed  tears  that 
had  burned  behind  the  lids  all  day. 

The  neighbours,  their  curiosity  satisfied, 
had  gone  home,  and  when  the  last  woman's 


156  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

back  was  turned,  Mrs.  Myrtle  had  taken  off 
her  black  silk  dress  and  laid  it  on  one  side 
with  a  fierce  snort  of  pride  and  an  uncon- 
scious sigh  of  relief.  Then  she  did  the 
few  little  household  matters  that  wanted  to 
be  done,  brushed  up  the  hearth  and  sat 
down.  A  clean  hearth  was  necessary  to 
Mrs.  Myrtle's  peace  of  mind  as  a  clear  con- 
science, and  this  night  her  conscience  was  ill 
at  ease.  The  lamp  remained  unlit,  and  in 
the  long  summer  dusk  the  old  woman  slowly 
conned  through  the  pages  of  her  past  life. 
It  seemed,  after  all,  that  she  had  done  wrong 
wedding  John  Myrtle.  Other  men  had 
wished  to  marry  her  —  there  was  Peter 
Adams,  a  yeoman  farmer  who  had  stopped 
in  his  yellow  gig  at  her  father's  house  every 
Tuesday  and  Saturday  on  his  way  back 
from  market,  and  left  her  a  cream  cheese 
and  a  bunch  of  red  damask  roses — he  had 
married  later  when  he  learned  that  his  suit 
was  hopeless — well,  his  children  had  gone 
up  in  the  world.  Why  had  she  married 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  157 

John  Myrtle?  The  question  had  often  puz- 
zled her,  and  to-night  it  puzzled  her  again. 
She  had  never  held  him  to  be  her  equal,  had 
treated  him,  too,  with  a  certain  severity 
which  had  increased  as  the  years  drew  on 
and  he  showed  no  signs  of  jibbing  under  the 
yoke.  Bending  down  she  stirred  the  fire, 
and,  doing  so,  a  knock  sounded  at  the  door 
and  Mark  Tavy  entered.  The  flames  shot  up 
and  showed  him,  clean,  neat,  almost  spruce. 

It  had  been  a  hard  day  for  the  old  woman, 
she  had  borne  her  troubles  bravely,  com- 
plaining to  no  one,  not  even  to  herself,  but 
now,  as  she  looked  across  at  the  young  fish- 
erman, and  noted  his  well-brushed  clothes 
and  shiny  boots,  the  thought  struck  her 
that  he  at  least  might  have  stayed  away,  or 
if  he  must  come,  appear  less  prosperous. 

Mark,  unconscious  of  the  feeling  he  had 
raised,  drew  closer  and  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
fingering  the  felt  with  long  nervous  fingers. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Myrtle  sharply, 
"what  is  it?" 


168  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

Mark  tried  to  speak  and  his  voice  choked 
back  in  his  throat.  He  coughed  and  then 
burst  out  uneven  and  rough. 

"  Do  you  reckon  ? "  he  said,"  "  that  Luce 
'11  have  me  now  ?  " 

The  question,  so  unexpected,  struck  the 
old  woman  dumb ;  but,  after  a  while,  though 
words  would  not  come  to  her,  the  tears  that 
had  burned  so  long  behind  the  tired,  red  lids 
began  to  fall. 

Mark  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  the 
back  of  her  chair. 

"  Mother,"  he  repeated,  "  do  you  reckon 
that  Luce  'ull  have  me  now  ?  I  wud  make 
her  a  good  husband." 

Bending  forward,  the  proud  old  woman 
pressed  her  thin,  withered  lips  to  his  hand. 
"  My  heart  has  been  sore  all  day,  lad,"  she 
answered. 

"  I'll  be  a  good  son  to  'ee." 

"  Aye,  you  are  a  good  lad." 

Then  he  turned  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SOME  have  found  that  to  love  was  to  enter 
again  as  a  stranger  into  their  own  hearts, 
and  many  of  those  that  hate  have  made  a 
like  journey.  It  might  be  that  Luce  was 
such  a  one,  for  though  she  was  slow  to  real- 
ize all  that  had  befallen  her,  and  the  truth 
took  long  to  fit  into  the  crevices  of  her  heart 
and  brain,  yet,  as  bit  by  bit  it  forced  a  way 
in,  pushing  out  before  it  all  that  hitherto  she 
had  held  dear,  a  strong  new  self,  bitter  of 
thought  and  tongue,  rose  up  and  confronted 
her.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  power  to 
forgive  was  not  hers,  and  her  heart  hardened 
under  the  lack  of  it;  she  felt  that  Lupin 
had  done  a  deed  for  which  there  was  no  for- 
giveness, and  that  she  was  not  called  upon 
to  forgive;  and  yet  there  were  moments 
when  she  was  seized  with  terror,  lest  in  spite 

159 


160  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

of  all  she  might  forgive  him.  Her  thoughts 
dwelt  on  him  continually — only  not  with 
love  but  bitterness.  Sleep  deserted  her,  and 
when  night  fell  she  roved  from  room  to 
room  of  the  White  Cottage,  and  the  child, 
waking,  wailed  after  her.  Sometimes  she 
hated  the  child,  and  let  it  cry  on  unheeded, 
then  again  she  would  snatch  it  up  in  her 
arms,  and  press  it  against  her  heart  as  if  the 
touch  of  its  tiny  hand  could  take  away  her 
over-burdening  shame.  One  evening  as  she 
sat  alone,  no  sound  breaking  the  stillness  but 
the  see-sawing  of  the  waves  on  the  rocks  be- 
low, Mark  came  to  her.  He  looked  nervous 
and  ill  at  ease;  self,  partly  scotched,  had 
left  him  startled  at  its  grossness,  his  victory 
over  it  had  so  near  ended  in  a  defeat,  the 
thought  that  his  hands  had  all  but  helped  to 
draw  tight  the  cords  of  shame  round  Luce, 
left  him  shuddering.  Still,  threads  of  ela- 
tion ran  through  the  woof  of  his  feelings, 
though  he  himself  was  scarce  conscious  of 
their  existence;  but  to  Luce  they  were  glar- 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  161 

ingly  visible,  jarring  on  her  as  some  hideous 
colour  till  the  fabric  of  the  man  became  a 
thing  of  distaste  to  her. 

Mark  drew  nearer,  and  sat  down  astride 
a  chair,  pushing  his  head  sheepishly  for- 
ward, and  resting  his  chin  on  the  back  of 
the  seat.  The  sense  of  separation  that 
always  haunted  him  when  face  to  face  with 
this  woman  returned,  his  heart  ached  dully  ; 
it  seemed  doubly  hard  that  the  moment 
having  at  last  come  when  she  needed  his 
help  he  should  feel  so.  Sitting  there,  with 
a  bitter,  disdainful  expression  on  her  face, 
she  did  not  look  one  who  would  lightly 
ask  for  or  accept  help.  Raising  his  eyes, 
he  scanned  her  face,  half-analysing,  but 
failing  to  understand  its  expression.  He 
saw  no  reason  why  his  presence  should 
be  distasteful  to  her,  therefore  did  not 
believe  in  its  being  so;  her  eyes,  for  all 
their  bitterness,  were  fuller  of  sorrow,  and 
he  longed  to  comfort  her,  but  did  not  know 
how  to  begin ;  she  had  never  been  com- 


162  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

forted  by  that  which  he  had  found  com- 
forting. Again,  he  felt  strangely  shy  at 
the  presence  of  the  child ;  it  lay  in  the 
cradle  at  her  feet,  and  he  asked  himself 
again  and  again  why  she  cared  to  have 
it  where  any  stranger  dropping  in  might 
see  it.  There  seemed  to  him  something 
unwomanly  in  this  indifference  on  her  part. 
He  was  proud  to  be  the  man  who  should 
draw  the  garment  of  respectability  once 
more  about  her,  still  he  would  have  been 
better  pleased  to  have  found  her  shivering 
for  the  lack  of  it 

By  some  subtle  instinct,  Luce  divined  his 
feelings,  and  the  knowledge  awoke  her  to 
one  of  her  rare  fits  of  tenderness  for  the 
child.  Stooping,  she  picked  the  baby  up, 
pressing  it  to  her  breast,  kissing  its  eyes 
and  lips,  the  soft  creases  in  its  tiny,  fat  neck 
and  mottled  arms. 

Mark  turned  aside,  trying  not  to  watch 
her,  but  she  thrust  the  child  forward,  calling 
on  him  to  note  for  himself  how  fine  a  baby 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  163 

it  was.  He  pushed  the  child  gently  aside 
and  sat  tugging  at  his  blonde  beard — he  did 
not  wish  to  hurt  Luce,  yet  his  manner  to- 
wards her  chilled. 

The  girl  watched  him  closely,  her  lips 
parted  in  a  smile,  which  served  rather  to 
embitter  than  soften  her  face. 

"  Why,  you  haven't  a  word  to  throw  at  'un 
and  he  that  fine  limbed,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Put  the  chile  back  in  the  cradle,  I've 
zommat  to  say  to  'ee,"  he  answered  abruptly. 

She  burst  into  a  little  rough  laugh.  "  No," 
she  said ;  "  he'll  bide  the  happier  'long  o' 
his  mother." 

"  Ez  you  wull,"  replied  the  young  fisher- 
man, rising  from  his  seat  and  going  to  the 
window.  He  felt  he  could  not  unburden 
himself  of  his  errand,  while  she  flaunted  the 
child  in  his  face ;  but  she  got  up  and  fol- 
owed  him,  bearing  the  child  with  her. 

He  had  often  been  hurt  by  this  woman, 
but  there  had  been  some  quality  in  the  love 
he  bore  her,  which  had  made  him  forgive 


164  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

even  while  she  yet  wounded  him ;  now,  how- 
ever, a  new  feeling  awoke  in  his  heart,  a  feel- 
ing he  tried  to  stifle  down  lest  the  hour  of 
her  need  having  come,  he  should  turn  from 
her.  Glancing  round  the  kitchen,  his  eye 
lingered  on  the  shabby  furniture,  and  the  evi- 
dence of  her  poverty  stirred  the  pity  in  his 
heart  anew. 

"  I  always  hoped  us  wud  live  here  together 
zome  day,"  he  exclaimed  at  last. 

Dully,  the  red  began  to  burn  in  her  pale 
cheeks.  Mark  avoided  looking  into  her  face, 
and,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  battered  wooden 
settle,  continued  hurriedly,  not  choosing  his 
words,  but  catching  at  the  first  that  came  to 
hand. 

"  Luce,"  he  exclaimed,  "  won't  'ee  let  me 
make  things  right  for  'ee  avore  the  vul- 
lage?" 

"  What  do  'ee  meau  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  thick 
voice. 

"To  gi'e  'ee  an  honest  name.     I  be  jest  tur 
rible  willun'  to  marry  'ee." 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  165 

The  slow-gathering  indignation  burst  in  a 
sudden  flame  of  red  across  her  face. 

"  What  be  there  in  any  name  o'  yours  that 
shud  make  a  woman  honest  for  the  having 
it  ?  "  she  exclaimed  passionately. 

"  'Tis  a  name  that  has  always  been  respected 
in  the  village,  which  is  what  Ben  Lupin  can't 
say  for  his,"  he  answered,  more  wounded  than 
he  cared  to  allow,  even  to  himself. 

She  drew  back  as  from  a  blow.  The  mere 
mention  of  Lupin  seemed  to  part  afresh  the 
festering  wounds  he  had  made  in  her  life. 
"  Git  you  gone,"  she  said,  pointing  towards 
the  open  door. 

But  Mark  did  not  stir.  This  meeting  with 
Luce,  so  different  from  all  he  had  fore- 
shadowed, had  proved  yet  another  foil  be- 
tween him  and  his  hopes.  He  could  not 
understand  why  he  had  failed,  or  reconcile 
himself  to  failure. 

"  What  have  I  done  that  you  shud  treat 
me  the  like  o'  this  ? "  he  asked  bitterly. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  laying  the  baby 


166  THE  WHITE   COTTAGE 

back  in  the  cradle,  went  to  the  inner  room 
and  shut  the  door  upon  him  and  the  child. 

Mark  looked  at  the  closed  door,  which 
seemed  a  symbol  of  all  that  barred  him  out 
from  the  heart  of  this  woman.  The  child, 
frightened  at  being  left,  fell  to  wailing. 

"Surely,"  Mark  thought,  "she  will  come 
back  to  comfort  it." 

But  she  did  not  return  and  the  child  wailed 
on. 

"  Does  she  love  the  child  ? "  he  asked  him- 
self— and  still  she  did  not  return.  Slowly 
the  wish  formed  in  his  heart  that  she  would 
not  come,  that  she  would  leave  the  child  as 
bare  of  comfort  as  she  had  left  him;  he  could 
afford  to  starve  if  Lupin's  son  must  bear 
him  company,  yet  he  tried  to  stave  back  his 
hunger  by  the  belief  that  she  did  still  love 
him,  and  make  plausible  an  explanation  that 
should  fit  in  with  this  belief.  A  new  idea 
presented  itself.  What  if  she  imagined  that  it 
was  he  who  had  denounced  Lupin  ?  His  heart 
gave  a  great  throb  of  relief — at  least,  then, 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  167 

he  was  to  experience  the  reward  of  self-sacri- 
fice. The  sacrifice  had  not  been  sweet  in  the 
making,  but  it  might  yet  earn  for  him  the 
respect  and  affection  of  the  one  woman  he 
loved.  He  bowed  his  face  upon  his  hands, 
and  thanked  God  who  had  given  him  strength 
to  do  the  finer  thing,  then  he  raised  his  eyes 
and  looked  across  the  sea.  A  gracious  world 
this,  that  he  lived  in,  and  he  felt  in  accord 
with  it.  Rising,  he  stole  toward  the  bedroom 
door,  pulling  up  short  as  a  step  became  aud- 
ible on  the  path  without,  and  the  trim  figure 
of  Mrs.  Myrtle  passed  the  window.  At  the 
sight  all  desire  to  linger  left  him,  and,  open- 
ing the  back  door,  and  jumping  the  wall,  he 
flung  himself  down  on  the  green  turf  beside 
the  edge  of  the  cliff  to  con  over  and  over  a 
thousand  possible  eventualities. 

Mrs.  Myrtle  meanwhile  had  entered  the 
cottage.  The  baby  had  ceased  crying,  and 
dropped  off  to  sleep.  She  looked  at  it  for 
a  moment,  frowning  heavily,  not  staying, 
however,  to  waste  a  second  glance  on  the 


168  THE  WHITE   COTTAGE 

small,  puckered,  tear-stained  face,  but  going 
straight  to  the  bedroom  opened  the  door 
and  went  in.  It  was  the  first  meeting  of 
mother  and  daughter  since  Lupin's  arrest. 
Luce,  who  was  seated  on  a  broken-backed 
wooden  chair,  raised  her  head  and  stared 
almost  sullenly  at  the  sharp-eyed  old  woman ; 
she  had  never  loved  her  mother,  and  to-day 
her  presence  was  unwelcome.  It  was  of 
scant  account  to  Mrs.  Myrtle  whether  she 
was  welcome,  her  susceptibilities  were  not 
worn  to  a  thin  edge,  and  in  no  case  would 
she  have  troubled  over  so  trivial  a  detail ; 
but  this  evening  her  mind  was  filled  with 
more  weighty  matter.  Wasting  no  time,  she 
went  straight  to  the  point. 

"  Mark  Tavy's  been  here  ?  " 

"Ess." 

"I  saw  un  go  in.  Then  he's  willun  to 
make  an  honest  woman  o'  'ee  ?  " 

Luce  cast  a  bitter,  indignant  look  upon 
her  mother,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  What,"  exclaimed  the  old  woman  sharp- 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  169 

ly,  "  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  he's  been  and 
gone  back  on  his  word  !  " 

For  answer  the  girl  broke  into  a  wild 
laugh.  "  Be  you  so  mortal  anxious  to  make 
an  honest  woman  o'  me  ?  " 

"  Ain't  I  your  mother  ?  What  makes  'ee 
ax  such  things  ? " 

"  I  shudn't  veel  no  honester  married  to  the 
like  o'  he." 

"  That  iddn't  the  question.  Did  he  ax  'ee 
is  what  I  want  to  know  ? " 

"  Ess,  and  I  showed  un  the  door." 

"The  door!" 

"Ess." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  while  the 
old  woman  fitted  the  meaning  to  the  words. 

"Be  you  off  your  chump  or  daft,  or  jest 
bone-wicked?"  she  exclaimed,  coming  for- 
ward and  seizing  her  daughter's  arm.  "Is 
your  fether's  good  name  and  mine  o'  no 
vally  to  'ee?  Don't  you  take  no  count  o1 
'pinion  o'  the  vullage  ? " 

"  Didn't  I  tull  'ee  I  shud  veel  jest  ez  re- 


170  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

spectable  left  ez  I  he  ? "  Luce  answered  in 
a  sullen  voice. 

"And  what  do  your  veelings  matter,  I 
shud  like  to  know." 

"  I  shall  valler  'em,  thic  be  all." 

"  You'll  no  marry  un  ?  " 

"  No,  I'll  no  marry  un." 

"And  why  for  no?" 

"  Because  he  wud  niver  be  no  husband  o' 
mine  if  I  wor  married  to  un  a  score  o'  times 
over." 

"  Oh,  you're  bone- wicked,  that's  what  you 
are." 

"  May  be." 

"Do  you  reckon  to  wait  till  Ben  Lupin 
comes  out  o'  gaol  and  go  and  live  'long  o' 
he?" 

The  girl's  teeth  clenched  on  her  white  lips, 
but  she  made  no  reply. 

"Be  that  what  you're  after?  " 

"  I  shan't  tell  'ee." 

"  You  wud  rather  wait  for  he  than  marry 
an  honest  respectable  lad  ?  " 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  171 

"I  shan't  tull  'ee  naught  whatsoiver." 
Anger,  vexation,  surprise  held  Mrs.  Myr- 
tle silent  a  moment,  then  the  bitterness  of 
her  disappointment    burst  in   a  torrent  of 
words. 

"I  cudn't  have  believed  that  a  chile  o' 
mine  cud  have  so  little  notion  o'  the  vally  o' 
respect.  Whose  blood  be  in  'ee  that  you 
shud  act  so  outrageous,  that's  what  I  ax  ?  I 
know  well  enough  whose  'tis,  though.  Oh, 
'twas  an  evil  day  when  I  set  eyes  on  your 
f ether,  for  all  that  he's  so  well  meaning  and 
fine  limbed.  A  woman  can  answer  for  herself 
afore  the  Lord  and  afore  the  parish,  but  the 
best  o'  'em  can't  tull  who  her  childer  wull 
take  after.  'Tis  a  lop  twisted  thing  this 
mixing  o'  natures  in  marriage.  But  there," 
she  ended,  with  a  sudden  change  of  voice, 
"  What's  the  use  o'  wasting  words.  You'll 
be  fo'ced  to  marry  un,  that's  the  long  and 
short  of  it.  Tiddn't  often  that  a  maid  left 
ez  you  be  gits  such  a  chance.  Most  women 
wud  catch  to  a  rag  wi'  a  name  to  it — let 


172  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

alone  a  decent  young  chap  who  had  fifty 
pound  put  by  in  the  savings  bank  and  a  boat 
and  nets." 

Luce  rose  and  went  slowly  into  the 
next  room,  her  head  bent  and  her  hands 
listless.  She  was  very  tired,  but  her  mind 
was  made  up  and  the  jar  and  worry  of 
words  would  not  change  it. 

The  old  woman  looked  after  her,  half 
guessing  that  she  was  powerless  to  alter 
her  daughter's  decision. 

"Her's  heavy  blooded  the  same  ez  her 
fether,"  she  exclaimed,  "when  once  her's 
failed  into  a  thing  'twud  take  more'n  pa- 
tience to  move  her." 

Lifting  the  tea-pot  from  the  dresser,  Luce 
turned  to  her  mother.  "  I'm  going  to  make 
myself  a  drop  o'  tea.  Will  you  take  a  cup  ?  " 

The  girl's  apathy,  though  she  expected 
nothing  else,  did  not  fail  to  jar  on  Mrs. 
Myrtle's  nerves. 

"I'll  take  no  bite  nor  sup  in  this  house 
till  I  see  you  made  into  an  honest  woman," 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  173 

she  answered,  and  so  saying  she  walked 
out  of  the  cottage,  slamming  the  door  after 
her. 

Mark  was  waiting  on  the  cliffs  without, 
and  when  the  old  woman  had  departed  and 
the  echo  of  her  footsteps  had  died  away,  he 
returned  and  knocked  at  the  door.  There 
was  no  answer,  and  the  thought  came  to  him 
that  he  would  not  knock  again,  but  wait  till 
morning,  when  Luce  would  open  the  door 
unto  the  world  and  he  would  enter  with  the 
fresh  breezes  of  the  dawn. 

All  through  the  long,  warm  summer  night 
he  lay  out  upon  the  cliffs,  and  looked  up  at 
the  stars  and  at  a  small  wisp  of  moon  scud- 
ding among  the  clouds.  Near  by  stood  the 
White  Cottage,  and  he  thought  of  the  closed 
door  and  the  sleeping  woman  within,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  with  the  opening  of  the 
door  of  the  cottage  she  would  open  the 
door  of  her  heart  also.  He  grew  humble, 
knowing  at  last  how  great  a  thing  he  de- 
manded of  this  woman — his  own  love  seemed 


174  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

a  poor  rag  to  wrap  round  her,  yet  he  felt  it 
might  serve  to  keep  out  the  harsher  winds ; 
but  most  of  all,  as  he  lay  there,  he  was 
thankful  that  it  was  not  he  who  had  de- 
nounced Lupin.  Peace  stole  round  him  as  a 
warm  garment  and  at  last  he  slept. 

With  the  first  stirrings  of  the  morn  he 
rose  and  came  to  the  White  Cottage  door. 
After  long  waiting,  she  opened  to  him,  and 
seeing  him  standing  there  her  face  grew 
heavy  with  anger.  The  dew  was  in  his 
eyes  and  hair,  and  believing  that  he  had 
but  to  speak  for  her  anger  to  leave  her,  he 
laughed  out  fresh  and  strong  from  sheer 
strength  of  manhood. 

She  started  at  the  sound  and  drew  back. 

"Luce,"  he  said  eagerly,  "'tworn't  me 
told  on  Lupin.  I  knawed  it  all  along,  but 
I  jest  kept  zilent." 

For  a  moment  the  girl  looked  at  him 
as  if  she  failed  to  grasp  the  meaning  of 
his  words. 

"When  Ben  doed  it,  what  be  it  to  me 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  175 

who  told  on  'un,"  she  answered,  and,  going 
in,  slammed  back  the  door. 

Leaving  the  White  Cottage  Mark  went 
his  way.  There  was  no  reward,  then,  for 
self -sacrifice. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  was  winter;  four  months  had  passed 
since  Lupin's  arrest.  The  gulls,  driven  be- 
fore the  December  wind,  flew  screaming  past 
the  White  Cottage.  Night  drew  on ;  the 
wind,  howling  itself  into  a  fury  of  sound, 
rushed  in  upon  the  rain-bedraggled  land. 
The  little  cottage  cowered  under  the  thatched 
roof,  while  far  below  the  sea  eat  away  up- 
wards through  the  base  of  the  cliff.  All 
day  the  road  across  the  hills  had  been  bare 
of  traffic,  but  at  the  closing  in  of  the  even- 
ing a  solitary  woman  hurried  along  it,  seek  • 
ing  shelter  from  the  bare  hedges  and  getting 
but  scant  measure.  She  halted  at  last  oppo- 
site the  White  Cottage,  leaning  on  the  gate, 
which  had  sunk  into  the  sodden  earth  sagged 
outwards,  neither  open  nor  shut.  For  a 
long  time  she  stood  there,  gazing  across  at 

176 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  177 

the  windows.  A  streak  of  firelight  struck 
through  the  garden  almost  to  her  feet,  mak- 
ing her  tall,  black  figure  look  the  taller  and 
the  blacker  for  the  contrast.  She  shivered ; 
then  drawing  herself  upright,  walked  for- 
ward and  knocked  at  the  door.  Luce  opened 
it,  and  for  a  moment  the  two  women  stood 
looking  at  one  another  as  if  each  were  gath- 
ering her  strength  under  her  for  combat. 
At  last  Hester  Lupin  broke  the  silence. 

"  I've  come,"  she  said,  "  to  die  in  my  hus- 
band's house." 

Again  silence  fell  upon  the  two. 

"  He  lays  no  claim  to  'ee,"  Luce  answered. 

A  shiver  tore  through  Hester;  she  leant 
against  the  doorpost.  "  I  be  dying,"  she  ex- 
claimed brokenly ;  "  I  shall  soon  be  forced 
to  leave  *un  for  good  and  all,  and  I  feel 
nearer  to  'un  here  than  in  the  cottage  where 
he  turned  his  back  on  me." 

Luce  laughed  harshly.  "  If  you  can  find 
comfort  in  sich  things  ez  thic,  come  in  and 
welcome,"  she  answered,  standing  aside. 


178  THE    WHITE  COTTAGE 

Hester  entered,  pride  straightening  and 
giving  fresh  energy  to  her  weary  body.  She 
walked  across  the  room  to  where  Lupin's 
chair  stood.  It  had  been  pushed  back 
against  the  wall,  a  small  chest  thrust  in 
front,  and  looked  as  if  scant  use  were  made 
of  it. 

"Thickey  here  be  his'n  ?  "  she  said. 

Luce  nodded,  and  Hester  Lupin  drew  the 
chair  forward  and  sat  down  near  the  fire. 
Fever  made  brilliant  her  dark  eyes  and 
flamed  in  the  worn,  thin  face,  eating  into  her 
as  fire  and  ice,  so  that  she  shivered  even  as 
she  was  consumed. 

Colder  and  colder  grew  the  night,  and  the 
two  women  cowering  over  the  fire  were 
forced  to  draw  closer  together,  yet  each 
looked  upon  the  other  as  an  intruder. 
Neither  spoke,  but  their  hearts  fought  for 
the  possession  of  the  same  man  ;  while  from 
without  the  storm  slashed  in  upon  their  com- 
bat, ripping  open  the  silence  with  a  fine  cut 
and  thrust. 


THE  WHITE   COTTAGE  179 

At  last  Luce  rose,  and  going  into  the  ad- 
joining room,  returned  after  a  moment  bear- 
ing the  sleeping  child  in  her  arms.  A  feel- 
ing of  despair  fell  upon  Hester  at  the  sight 
of  the  child,  and  she  knew  she  was  being 
triumphed  over. 

The  baby  awoke  and  clamoured,  pressing 
ten  pink  fingers  deep  into  the  bosom  that 
fed  it,  and  Hester,  watching,  felt  the  pain  of 
that  pressure  in  her  own  breast.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  the  pride  on  which  she  had  fed 
through  the  long  night  ran  dry,  leaving  her 
spirit  bare  of  sustenance.  Slowly  the  tears 
gathered  in  her  eyes  and  fell  upon  her  face, 
and  she  made  no  stir  to  hide  her  grief,  but 
wept  stark  out.  Need  of  relief  grew  in  her ; 
she  found  words  and  spoke,  laying  bare  her 
sorrow  before  Luce. 

"  I  went  to  7un  over  to  there,"  she  began  in 
a  low,  hoarse  voice.  "  They  allows  you  in 
certain  days.  'Tis  a  banging  girt  building, 
Exetur  prison ;  a  mortal  lot  o'  bricks  went 
to  the  making  o'  it.  A  having  place  if  you 


180  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

were  to  die  there,  your  spirut  wud  niver  git 
out,  you  be  that  barred  and  locked  back  from 
the  free  air.  I  said  to  mezulf  when  I  cast  eyes 
on  it,  'tis  contrary  folks  are  to  put  my  Ben 
away  in  sich,  he  who  wor  always  for  an  open 
door.  They  had  got  passages  there  wi'  an 
echo  to  'em  that  vallers  you  step  by  step  ez 
you  walk,  and  sort  o'  says,  *  You  can't  git 
out ;  do  what  'ee  will,  you  can't  git  out.'  Ben 
must  ha'  heard  it  a-saying  thic  scores  o'  times, 
and  terrible  angered  he's  been  no  doubt. 
They'll  have  to  do  zommat ;  he'll  no  bide  long 
o7  that,  he  niver  could  bear  being  faced. 
Then  the  tidiness  o'  it  all  'ull  tarn  his  stomach ; 
he  dearly  liked  to  have  his  things  lie  about, 
and  for  all  that  he  wor  zo  fond  o'  hacking 
and  chipping,  I  had  to  hunt  round  for  his 
knife  ez  many  times  ez  he  laid  it  down.  Poor 
lad,  he's  got  no  wan  to  worrit  round  arter  'un 
now,  though,  from  what  I  saw  o'  the  place, 
'tis  a  deal  too  tidy  for  aught  to  go  astray  in 
it!" 

She  stopped   speaking,  and  Luce   turned 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  181 

away  to  hide  her  face ;  but  Hester  paid  no 
heed  to  her,  and  after  a  moment  went  on  with 
her  tale. 

"They  makes  'ee  write  your  name  in  a 
book,  so  I  wrote  'un  down.  '  Hester  Lupin ' 
I  wrote;  but  I  wor  narvous,  and  the  man 
cudn't  make  nought  o'  the  writing.  He  axed 
me  to  read  it,  and  I  read  it.  *  Wife  o'  'un  ? ' 
he  says,  and  I  says,  '  Ess,  wife  o'  'un.'  Wi' 
that  he  went  out  and  left  me,  and  I  tried  to 
git  my  scattered  senses  together,  for  Ben 
niver  cud  bide  loose-fitting  talk.  But  the 
only  wuds  that  drummed  droo  my  head  wor, 
'  wife  o'  'un,  wife  o'  'un  ! '  Zometimes  they 
would  zound  tumble  loud,  the  zame  ez  if 
every  mortal  stone  in  Exetur  gaol  had  taken 
tongue  to  hiszulf,  and  then  again  they  wud 
jest  clitter-tippy-toe ;  but  w'ether  they  wor 
loud  or  w'ether  they  wor  zaft,  I  wor  forced 
to  listen  to  'em.  Arter  a  bit,  the  man  corned 
along  back.  *  I've  told  'un  you  be  here,'  he 
said.  'Did  he  say  ought?'  I  axed.  'He 
said,  "  Be  her  mortal  personable  ?  "  And  I 


182  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

told  'un  you  had  zarrer  stamped  across  your 
vace,'  the  man  answered.  l  What  did  he  say 
to  thic  ? '  I  axed.  '  Jest  nought.  He  fell  all 
of  a-trembly ;  that's  what  he  did.'  '  I  never 
knawed  'un  do  that  afore,'  I  answered.  *  Ah,* 
said  the  man,  l  gaol  'ull  bring  things  out  that 
nought  ulse  will.'  Wi'  that  he  told  me  to 
valler  'un,  and  I  vallered  'un.  When  us  got 
to  the  door  o'  the  cell,  there  wor  a  lil'  pane 
o'  glass  in  it,  no  bigger  than  your  hand. 
'  Look  in,'  he  says,  '  and  you'll  zee  'un.'  But 
I  couldn't  bring  mezulf  to  spy  on  Ben.  The 
man  undid  the  door,  and  us  went  in." 

Again  she  fell  silent,  and  Luce,  who  had 
craned  her  head  forward,  listening  to  the 
story,  drew  back  suddenly. 

The  fear  that  she  should  forgive  him  and 
be  left  defenceless  against  his  pleadings, 
swept  down  upon  her  with  renewed  force. 
"  If  I  shud  f  orgi'e  'un,"  she  muttered ;  "  if  I 
shud  forgi'e  'un !  " 

After  some  moments  Hester  Lupin  con- 
tinued, her  voice  sinking  almost  to  a  whisper. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  183 

"  He  wor  standing  wi'  his  back  tarned  to 
us,"  she  said.  "  High  up  over  his  head  wor 
a  lil'  snip  o'  a  winder ;  there  wor  nought  to 
be  zeen  out  o'  it,  less  maybe  a  patch  o'  sky. 
The  man  he  bided  at  the  door,  and  I  went 
vorrid  to  Ben.  He  didn't  tarn,  Ben  didn't, 
but  just  stood  sort  o'  listening.  He  wor 
all  o'  a-trembly,  and  thet  made  me  fear'd, 
beca'se  I  had  niver  zeen  'un  the  like  o' 
that  afore.  I  put  out  my  hand  to  touch 
'un,  and  then  I  drapped  it  down  agin  my 
side  ;  thickey  words,  l  Wife  o'  'un,'  l  wife  o7 
'un,'  sang  droo  my  head,  giving  me  no 
rast. 

" '  Luce,'  he  said.  I  didn't  make  'un  no 
answer,  for  my  heart  thrust  itzulf  in  atween 
me  and  speech. 

"  *  You've  been  long  a-coming,'  he  said. 
And  still  I  didn't  make  'un  no  answer. 

"'I've  wearied  a-bit  waiting  for  'ee,'  he 
said.  I  cudn't  fine  wuds — I  jest  cudn't. 

"'I  shud  niver  break  my  heart  for  no 
woman  living,  they  bain't  worth  it,'  he  said, 


184  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

sort  o'  proudful.  Then  he  stopped  quat,  and 
all  the  spirut  went  out  o'  'un,  and  he  fell  to 
crying  the  zame  ez  a  chile. 

"  '  You've  bin  long  a-coming,'  he  said.  1 1 
niver  reckoned  on  'ee  biding  away  like  thic.' 
I  cudn't  find  wuds,  for  'twor  you  he  hun- 
gered arter." 

She  ceased  speaking,  and  the  wind  roaring 
in  the  chimney  made  a  noise  like  a  gigantic 
humming-top,  a-spin  on  a  plain  of  steel ;  the 
door  and  windows  shook  and  rattled ;  but 
rising  clear  of  all  other  sounds  was  the  cease- 
less clamour  of  the  sea.  Mechanically  Luce 
rose  and  stirred  the  fire;  she  did  not  know 
what  she  was  doing ;  it  seemed  to  her  that 
something  in  her  brain  was  being  drawn  to 
full  stretch,  and  each  nerve  was  alert  for  the 
moment  of  the  breaking.  A  sob — low,  scarce 
audible — thrust  its  way  through  Hester  Lu- 
pin's lips ;  it  sounded  like  a  smothered  cry 
torn  off  short  in  the  throat.  Luce  made  no 
motion  to  comfort  her,  neither  did  Hester 
seek  comfort.  Each  had  ceased  to  think  on 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  185 

the  other's  presence,  or  to  be  conscious  of 
aught  but  her  own  grief. 

"  I  cudn't  finds  wuds,"  Hester  repeated. 
"  I  cudn't  find  wuds.  How  cud  I  vind  wuds 
when  'tworn't  me  that  he  hungered  after.  He 
tarned  his  starved  face  on  me,  and  I  looked 
back  to  'un,  but  cudn't  vind  wuds.  He 
worn't  angered  the  zarae  ez  he  wud  ha'  been 
wance,  he  wor  jest  starved  wi'  waiting.  He 
didn't  zay  nought,  but  sort  o'  told  me  wi'  his 
eyes  that  I  cudn't  be  no  help  to  'un,  zo  arter 
a  bit  I  tarned  and  went." 

She  fell  into  a  silence  as  bare  as  the  tale 
she  told,  while  without  the  wind  and  sea 
pursued  their  conflict  unrestrained. 

The  keener  cold  of  dawn  shivered  through 
the  room,  the  fire  sank  together  and  went 
out,  the  two  women  sought  shelter  side  by 
side  in  the  old  wooden  bed.  Hester  slept ; 
fever  burning  strange  pictures  on  her  brain, 
dimmed  in  moments  of  semi-consciousness, 
distorted,  vivid,  grotesque,  as  sleep  laid  hold 
of  her  once  more ;  but  Luce  lay  stiff  and  still, 


186  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

her  wide-open  eyes  staring  into  the  darkness. 
Word  by  word  she  went  back  over  Hester 
Lupin's  story,  peeling  it  down  to  the  very 
roots. 

"  I  dursn't  forgi'e  'ee,  Ben,"  she  muttered ; 
"Idursn't,  I  dursn't." 

When  dawn  crept  between  the  closed  shut- 
ters she  turned  from  the  thought  of  Lupin  to 
think  upon  herself,  and  there  in  the  dimly 
lighted  room  she  became  conscious  of  the 
change  that  was  being  wrought  in  her,  realiz- 
ing that  in  stemming  back  forgiveness  her 
nature  was  hardening,  but  she  welcomed  the 
change,  for  it  seemed  a  fresh  barrier  between 
herself  and  Ben.  In  thought  she  gathered 
herself  together  for  the  blow  she  would  one 
day  deliver  to  a  soul  as  sore  wounded  as  her 
own,  and  all  the  while  the  quick  pain-drawn 
breathing  of  Hester  Lupin  thrust  itself  noisily 
upon  her  meditations,  as  if  it  would  remind 
her  that  close  at  hand  lay  a  soul  wounded 
unto  death. 

Luce  turned  and  looked  at  Hester  in  the 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  187 

gathering  light.  The  thin,  sorrow- stamped 
face,  the  grey  hair,  the  feverish,  twitching 
hands,  awoke  in  her  neither  compassion  nor 
hate.  Strangely  enough  she  did  not  hate 
Lupin's  wife,  regarding  her  rather  with  a 
vast  indifference.  She  knew  the  woman  was 
dying,  and  from  grief ;  the  knowledge  made 
her  shudder  at  her  own  strength.  She 
glanced  down  at  her  plump  hands  and  arms 
thinking  that  grief  had  made  poor  way  with 
its  task  so  far  as  she  was  concerned.  A 
laugh  forced  her  clenched  teeth  apart ;  after 
all  what  did  it  matter  whether  she  lived  or 
died  ?  Sorrow  had  hardened  her  against  its 
own  onslaught.  The  tall  clock  in  the  kitch- 
en struck  the  hour ;  hearing  it  she  got  up, 
huddled  on  her  clothes  with  careless  haste 
and  lit  the  fire.  She  then  made  some  tea 
and  cutting  off  a  hunch  of  bread  eat  it  dry 
with  hungry  relish,  the  long,  sleepless  night 
behind  her  having  left  the  edge  of  her  appe- 
tite unimpaired. 

Hester  did  not  stir,  but  twice  as  the  day 


188  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

advanced  she  draped  herself  to  the  small 

OO 

courtyard  where  the  pump  stood  and  drank 
feverishly  of  the  ice-cold  water.  Luce  raised 
no  voice  to  restrain  her,  though  the  sight 
irked  her  womanly  instincts.  It  was  Hester 
Lupin's  affair;  she  had  forced  herself  into 
the  White  Cottage  to  die,  and  she  might 
have  the  ordering  of  her  own  dying. 

Night  came  round,  again  the  two  women 
lay  side  by  side  in  the  old  wooden  bed.  This 
time  it  was  Luce  who  slept.  Awakening 
later  she  saw  Hester  Lupin  standing  beside 
the  cradle.  The  child  was  in  her  arms,  its 
lips  pressed  up  against  her  bare  bosom, 
while  her  long  grey  hair  curled  over  the 
small,  puckered  face  and  about  her  shoul- 
ders. The  window  stood  wide  open,  the 
bleak  air  blowing  full  on  them.  Did  Hester 
mean  to  kill  the  child  ?  For  a  moment  Luce 
lay  and  watched  her,  then  springing  out  of 
her  bed  almost  tore  the  baby  from  Hester 
Lupin's  arms. 

"  What  wud  'ee  do  wi'  'un  ? "  she  asked, 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  189 

surprised  at  her  own  vehemence  of  emotion. 
"  You  can  kill  yourzulf  and  welcome,  but  the 

chile's  mine  and "  She  stopped  short, 

something  freezing  back  the  coming  words. 
Going  to  the  cradle  she  was  about  to  lay  the 
baby  back,  when  a  glance  at  Hester's  face 
told  her  she  had  to  do  with  a  woman  no 
longer  responsible  for  her  actions. 

"  Git  back  to  bed,  do,"  she  said  in  a  quiet- 
er voice.  "  The  fever's  on  'ee  and  'tis  bad 
work  playing  with  sich." 

But  Hester  did  not  stir,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  the  child  as  if  she  were  about  to 
snatch  it  back  from  Luce.  "  Give  me  the 
little  lad,"  she  exclaimed,  holding  out  her 
arms. 

"You  are  not  in  a  fit  state  to  be  trusted 


wi'  un." 


"  He  be  my  own  child,  and  safer  wi'  me 
than  wi'  stranger  folk,  though  they  be  so 
mortal  anxious  to  steal  'un  away." 

Luce  walked  to  the  bed  and  turned 
back  the  clothes.  "  Come,"  she  said  sooth- 


190  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

ingly,  "and  git  in  between  the  blankets: 
you'll  catch  your  death  o'  cold  standing 
there." 

For  a  moment  Hester  Lupin  stood,  her 
dark  brilliant  eyes  fixed  on  Luce.  "You 
reckon  I  be  sick,"  she  answered,  "and  not 
fit  to  be  trusted  wi'  my  own  chile ;  but  he's 
all  I  have  now  Ben's  took  from  me." 

Luce  turned  away,  a  feeling  of  pity  stirred 
in  her  heart  for  the  first  time  since  sorrow 
had  hardened  it.  "Git  into  bed,"  she  said 
huskily,  "me  and  the  chile  'ull  lay  down 
aside  'ee." 

Hester  did  as  she  was  bid. 

For  a  short  time  the  nearness  of  the  child 
seemed  to  sooth  her,  and  she  lay  with  her 
hand  touching  the  baby's  shawl ;  but  after  a 
while  she  sat  up  suddenly  and  began  speak- 
ing in  an  excited  voice. 

"  'Tiddn't  no  manner  o'  use  axing  me  to  be 
quiet,  I  know  what  'twill  be;  zo  zoon  ez  I 
drap  off  to  slape,  you'll  slip  away  wi'  the 
chile  and  I  shall  niver  set  eyes  on  'un  agin. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  191 

But  I'll  not  be  zo  voolish.  Ben,  he'll  think 
the  world  of  me  now  I've  got  a  little  lad. 
He  always  said  that  a  chile  wor  a  draw 
home  to  folks  the  like  o'  hiszulf.  A  wild, 
unreasonable  man  Ben  in  zome  things,  but 
terrible  took  up  wi'  childer.  Us  wor  man 
and  wife  five  years  afore  this  wan  corned  to 
us,  and  many's  the  time  Ben's  been  fo'ced  to 
sit  azide  a  lonesome  hearth  a-waiting  for  his 
coming.  Ess,  and  my  heart  has  ar-.hed  wish- 
ing for  'un  too.  Spring  and  fruiting  time 
wor  always  bitter  to  me,  for  it  zim'd  to  come 
home  more  than  iver  then  what  'twor  to  be 
childless ;  and  Ben  he  felt  the  zame,  for 
'twas  spring  when  he  left  me,  a  barren 
woman,  sitting  aside  a  bare  hearth." 

She  stopped  speaking  and  stretched  out 
her  feverish  hand  towards  the  child.  "  Let 
'un  be  here  in  my  arms,  I  shall  feel  easier 
wi'  'un  zo.  I've  hungered  arter  'un  five  long 
years,  and  now  he's  come  I  can't  bear  'un 
out  o'  my  zight." 

Luce  changed  the  child  to  the  other  arm 


192  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

so  as  to  bring  it  closer  to  the  sick  woman. 
It  seemed  strange  to  her  that  she  should  lie 
there  and  listen  to  Hester  Lupin's  ravings 
and  that  she  should  not  hate  but  humour 
her.  Was  her  love  less  dead  than  she  fan- 
cied? And  would  she  end  by  pitying  and 
trying  to  save  the  life  of  a  woman  whose  ex- 
istence cast  the  blight  of  shame  upon  her 
own  ?  She  could  not  believe  it,  and  yet,  as 
she  looked  at  Hester,  who  had  fallen  into 
a  troubled  sleep,  the  thought  came  that 
the  doctor  ought  to  be  fetched  without 
delay. 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  kitchen,  carrying 
the  child  with  her.  Why  should  she  trouble 
to  fetch  the  doctor  ?  Let  Hester  die.  She 
began  to  busy  herself  tidying  the  room, 
washing  and  putting  away  the  breakfast 
things.  Suddenly,  however,  she  laid  aside 
the  work  in  hand  and  going  to  the  door 
looked  out.  The  wind  had  dropped  and  the 
ground  was  black  with  frost.  Across  the 
hills  the  road  wound,  bare  of  traffic.  She 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  193 

threw  a  shawl  round  her  head,  and  running 
to  the  garden  gate  glanced  down  the  lane. 
There  was  no  one  in  sight.  The  cold  was 
piercing ;  she  might  stand  a  couple  of  hours 
and  not  cast  eyes  upon  a  living  soul.  Some- 
thing must  be  done  and  that  quickly.  Re- 
turning to  the  cottage  she  peeped  through 
the  bedroom  window  at  Hester.  The  bed- 
clothes had  been  thrown  partly  back,  but 
seeing  that  the  sick  woman  still  slept,  Luce 
determined  to  fetch  the  doctor  herself.  She 
cast  one  glance  at  the  White  Cottage  as  she 
hurried  away.  A  strange  sense  of  forebod- 
ing possessed  her,  then  she  burst  into  a 
laugh  of  derision,  knowing  well  that  all  she 
had  cared  for  on  earth  had  perished  with  her 
own  honour. 

She  took  scant  time  over  her  errand,  a 
bare  twenty  minutes  by  the  clock,  but  when 
she  returned,  Hester  had  gone  and  the  child 
also.  For  a  moment  Luce  stood  beside  the 
empty  cradle,  and  the  gates  that  had  so  long 
stemmed  back  her  love  from  her  child  shook 


194  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

as  if  about  to  be  forced  apart.  Her  eyes 
fell  on  tlie  soft  warm  shawl  in  which  the 
baby  had  been  wrapped,  and  at  the  sight  of 
it  the  winter  cold  bit  through  her. 

The  doctor  entered. 

"Her's  gone  and  taken  the  chile,"  she 
said ;  and  not  waiting  for  a  reply  went  out. 

She  did  not  know  in  which  direction  to 
seek,  and  let  her  eyes  rove  along  the  frozen 
ground,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  the  print  of 
Hester's  bare  feet.  A  flock  of  starlings, 
closely  packed,  flew  past,  scavenging  for 
food ;  but  nothing  else  stirred ;  all  nature 
seemed  shrunk  within  ill-fitting  garments. 

The  doctor  joined  her. 

"  I  will  put  some  men  on  to  search.  This 
is  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

Luce  made  no  reply,  but  listened  to  him 
hurrying  away  on  his  errand,  her  eyes  still 
fixed  on  the  frozen  ground.  She  could  think 
of  nothing  but  the  terrible  cold  and  the 
child  as  being  forced  to  meet  it  bare,  except 
for  his  little  flannel  gown.  All  day  and  for 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  195 

many  days  after  parties  of  men  were  out 
on  a  vain  search.  Then  one  evening  Luce 
packed  a  small  bundle  of  things  together, 
locked  the  door  of  the  White  Cottage  and 
went  herself  to  find  her  child.  At  the  near- 
est town  she  spent  the  few  shillings  she  had 
on  thread,  needles,  buttons,  that  she  might 
resell  the  same  again,  and  earn  sufficient  to 
support  her  on  her  quest. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

FOUR  summers  passed  away  and  the  vil- 
lagers ceased  to  trouble  themselves  over 
Lupin's  affairs,  agreeing  that  the  place  was 
well  quit  of  him  and  that  the  gaol  had  come 
into  its  own. 

It  was  once  more  August  and  evening. 
The  curlew  that  had  flown  inland  to  breed 
were  hurrying  seaward,  followed  by  their 
young.  Luce  had  not  returned  and  the 
White  Cottage  stood  vacant.  At  the  close 
of  each  day's  work,  Mark  lit  the  fire  in  the 
small,  shabbily  furnished  kitchen  and  put 
the  kettle  on  to  boil,  as  if  he  expected  Luce 
to  return  that  night.  Sometimes  he  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  looked  away 
across  the  valleys,  thinking  that  he  might 
see  her  on  one  of  the  long,  winding  roads. 
This  August  evening  he  did  see  her.  She  was 

196 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  197 

carrying  a  small  bundle,  and  walked  wearily. 
Hastening  forward  he  relieved  her  of  her 
load  and  they  returned  together  along  the 
same  track  that  he  had  come.  Neither 
spoke.  When  the  White  Cottage  rose  in 
sight  Luce  stopped  involuntarily;  tears 
filled  her  eyes  and  fell  upon  her  face. 
Mark  would  have  comforted  her,  but  he  had 
no  words,  so  they  trudged  on  once  more  in 
silence.  Drawing  nearer  she  saw  that 
smoke  rose  from  the  chimney  and  the  door 
of  the  cottage  stood  open.  She  glanced 
questioningly  at  Mark. 

"  I  reckoned  maybe  you  wud  come  back 
along  home  to-night,"  he  explained. 

Her  face  fell.  "  What  did  make  'ee  think 
I  wud  come  to-night  o'  all  nights  ? "  she 
asked,  after  a  pause,  surprise  fighting  with 
disappointment  in  her  voice. 

He  turned  away  his  head.  "I  didn't 
reckon  speshil  on  'ee  coming  to-night." 

"  Have  'ee  been  and  lit  the  fire  afore  to- 
night?" 


198  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

"Ess." 

"  Many  times  afore  ?  " 

"  Ess,  most  nights." 

"  Why  it  be  nigh  on  four  years  agone  that 
I  wor  here ! " 

"  I  reckoned  you  might  drop  in  any  time." 

Luce  sighed  wearily.  "  I've  been  far,"  she 
said.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  bide  still  and 
rest." 

Pushing  open  the  wicket  gate  she  crossed 
the  garden  and  sank  down  on  the  small  seat 
under  the  porch. 

For  a  moment,  Mark  watched  her,  unde- 
cided whether  to  follow  or  not ;  then,  with 
sudden  determination,  he  turned  and  went 
away. 

His  absence  passed  unnoticed  by  Luce, 
whose  mind  was  filled  with  other  thoughts. 
She  had  found  no  trace  in  her  wanderings  of 
either  Hester  or  the  child,  and  now,  as  she 
sat  looking  in  through  the  half-open  door,  the 
empty  cottage  seemed  like  a  charnel-house 
ready  to  receive  her,  and  she  was  afraid  to 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  199 

enter.  She  was  seized  with  surprise  that  she 
had  ever  come  back.  Why  had  she?  What 
was  it  that  had  drawn  her  home  even  against 
her  will  ?  She  had  fostered  no  false  hope  of 
finding  the  child  alive  on  her  return. 

After  a  while  she  rose  and  went  in.  The 
kettle  was  singing  on  the  hob,  and  the  small 
table  was  pushed  forward  and  laid  ready  for 
tea,  but  Luce  noticed  neither  of  these  things. 
Pier  eyes  sought  the  spot  where  the  cradle 
always  stood,  dreading,  yet  longing,  to  see  it; 
but  the  deal  box  set  on  roughly  made  rockers 
stood  in  its  accustomed  place  no  longer. 
After  much  search  she  found  the  cradle 
stowed  away  in  the  shed  behind  the  house 
where  Mark  had  hidden  it  out  of  sight.  She 
guessed  it  was  he  who  had  done  this,  to  spare 
her  pain ;  but  she  resented  being  spared  the 
pain.  Picking  up  the  cradle  she  returned 
again  to  the  kitchen  and  placed  it  in  the  same 
spot  by  the  fire  where  it  had  been  put  by 
Lupin,  on  the  day  it  had  been  made.  Then 
flinging  herself  down  on  the  floor  she  cast 


200  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

her  arms  round  the  shabby  wooden  box  and 
burst  into  tears. 

Night  fell  and  the  tide  ebbed  with  it,  the 
moonlight  cutting  the  retreating  waters  like  a 
blade.  The  far-off  noises  of  the  village  were 
hushed,  but  to  Luce,  lying  there  in  the  still- 
ness, the  house  was  full  of  sound.  She  shiv- 
ered, for,  though  she  knew  that  Ben  Lupin 
and  her  child  were  with  her,  there  was  no 
companionship  in  their  presence,  and  she  was 
sore  pressed  with  loneliness. 

Many  weeks  passed  and  Luce  continued 
living  at  the  White  Cottage;  people  were 
surprised  at  this,  partly  because  the  Rev. 
Benjamin  Baugh  had  offered  to  take  her  into 
his  service  at  the  rectory,  but  more  perhaps 
that  they  held  the  cottage  to  be  a  marking 
spot,  and  her  remaining  there  a  help  to  keep- 
ing alive  the  memory  of  the  past  in  men's 
minds. 

On  this  matter  Mrs.  Myrtle  found  herself 
in  accord  with  the  village.  She  had  never 
entered  the  White  Cottage  since  the  day  Luce 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  201 

refused  to  marry  Mark  Tavy ;  she  had,  how- 
ever, spent  many  bitter  moments  waiting  for 
her  daughter  to  visit  her ;  but  Luce,  numb  to 
all  but  her  own  suffering,  failed  to  notice  her 
mother's  absence.  The  old  woman  could  not 
believe  in  disapprobation  so  well  merited  be- 
ing held  so  cheap,  and  was  for  ever  picturing 
Luce  kept  back  by  the  fears  that  forgiveness 
would  not  be  forthcoming.  Not  that  Mrs. 
Myrtle  had  the  least  desire  to  refuse  the  for- 

• 

giveness  :  she  merely  held  her  small,  wizened 
head  high,  as  befitted  a  woman  who  might  at 
any  moment  be  called  upon  to  dispense  it. 

Meanwhile,  she  kept  a  watchful  eye  on  Mark. 
It  was  a  matter  of  no  small  comfort  to  her  that 
though  Luce  had  cast  him  aside  he  evinced 
no  desire  to  salve  his  sores  by  marriage  with 
another  woman.  Neither  did  she  fail  to  note 
that  his  material  affairs  prospered,  and  that 
in  consequence  he  had  risen  in  public  opinion 
from  a  man  of  small  account  to  one  the  vil- 
lage could  without  shame  speak  well  of.  All 
things  considered,  this  was  no  small  stride 


202  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

for  a  young  man  to  take  in  four  years — the 
village  being  slow  to  speak  well  of  any  one, 
holding  that  ill  words  were  easier  found  and 
more  suiting  to  most  men's  behaviour. 

Mark  did  not  again  visit  the  White  Cot- 
tage. His  absence  surprised  Luce;  the 
quality  of  self -repression  struck  her  as  being 
new  to  the  man  and  set  her  wondering.  She 
felt  a  sudden  need  of  his  companionship; 
after  all,  they  had  been  great  friends  as 
children. 

One  evening,  as  she  was  seated  sewing 
at  the  window,  she  saw  him  far  off  on  the 
rocks  searching  for  laver.  Putting  on  a 
shawl  she  ran  out,  stopping  a  moment  to 
wonder  at  herself  before  hurrying  down  the 
narrow  cliff  path.  It  was  some  years  since 
she  had  been  upon  the  shore;  an  unexpect- 
ed light-heartedness  possessed  her  as  she 
jumped  from  rock  to  rock  across  the  amber 
pools  of  salt  water.  Long  past  scenes  of 
Mark's  and  her  own  childhood  returned  to 
her  mind,  and  her  heart  warmed  to  him  more 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  203 

than  it  had  for  many  years.  He  stood  look- 
ing seawards,  so  that  her  approach  remained 
unnoticed ;  as  she  drew  nearer  she  half 
smiled,  thinking  of  his  surprise.  At  the  last 
moment  he  turned  and  saw  her,  the  colour 
reddening  his  face  and  then  ebbing  out. 

"  Luce  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  smile  still  hovered  about  her  lips. 
"  Well !  "  she  answered ;  and  when  he  still 
remained  silent,  she  came  a  few  steps  nearer 
and  peered  into  his  basket.  "  What  do  'ee 
be  looking  for  ?  Lavers  ?  " 

"  Ess." 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to  give  'ee  a  hand.'' 

"  You'd  better  take  off  they  boots  then." 

She  sat  down  obediently. 

"  Your  feet  iddn't  brown  the  zame  ez  they 
wor,"  he  remarked  when  the  thick  woollen 
stockings  had  been  peeled  off  and  pushed 
into  the  boots. 

"No,  I  s'pose  they  iddn't,"  she  agreed, 
glancing  at  her  feet. 

He  swung  round  on  his  heel.     "  The  tide's 


204  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

on  the  turn.  'Tiddn't  no  manner  o'  use 
looking  for  laver  now." 

An  expression  of  disappointment  crossed 
Luce's  face.  "'Tis  lonesome  over  to  the 
cottage,"  she  said  after  a  pause. 

Mark  did  not  answer.  A  big  stickleback 
glided  out  from  under  the  stone  on  which  he 
was  standing.  Luce  watched  the  fish  nose 
its  way  round  the  pool. 

"  Do  'ee  mind  how  we  used  to  hunt  they 
ez  childer  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Ess." 

"  I  shud  dearly  like  to  catch  this  'un  and 
let  'un  go  arter,"  she  said,  rising. 

Mark  made  no  effort  to  help  her. 

"  I  can't  catch  'un  all  by  myself,"  she 
added. 

Then  he  came  to  her  assistance.  The 
pool  was  deep,  and  the  stickleback  fleet  of 
fin,  and  Mark  soon  forgot  all  but  the  chase 
on  which  he  was  bent.  Luce  laughed, 
counting  each  laugh  and  putting  it  by  in  her 
memory.  She  could  not  quite  escape  her 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  205 

loneliness  even  then,  but  she  felt  as  if  she 
were  on  the  point  of  escaping.  The  advanc- 
ing tide  drove  them  from  their  sport.  Luce 
picked  up  her  boots  and  walked  barefoot. 
A  soft,  intermittent  breeze  blew  off  shore, 
and  a  scent  of  heather  mixed  with  sea 
smells.  Crossing  the  rocks  they  came  to 
a  wide  stretch  of  white  sand,  behind  which 
rose  the  samphire-striped  cliffs,  while  far 
above  two  hawks  floated  motionless  as  if 
asleep. 

Luce  drew  in  a  deep  breath.  "I  do  be 
plazed  to  look  at  it  all,"  she  said. 

Mark  did  not  answer.  The  girl's  unex- 
pected friendliness  troubled  him.  He  did 
not  wish  again  to  raise  false  hopes,  the  lay- 
ing of  them  cost  too  much.  True,  it  was  as 
well  known  to  him  as  to  the  rest  of  the  vil- 
lage that  Luce's  love  for  Lupin  had  turned 
to  hatred.  Deep  down  in  the  young  fisher- 
man's heart,  however,  there  lurked  a  suspi- 
cion of  such  a  sudden  transformation ;  he  felt 
that  the  rapidity  of  the  change  must  entail  a 


206  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

lack  of  thoroughness  in  the  process,  which 
would  leave  the  whole  fabric  of  the  thing 
open  to  the  rot.  In  his  opinion,  Luce,  like 
the  rest  of  her  sex,  was  fickle.  Who,  he 
asked  himself,  could  depend  on  the  con- 
stancy of  either  her  love  or  hate  ? 

But  even  while  he  pondered  the  matter 
his  need  of  her  increased,  and  he  was  fain 
to  distrust  his  own  judgment.  Rough  hand- 
ling had  not  altered  the  man's  nature  much ; 
it  had  grown  a  little  softer,  perhaps,  a  little 
stronger,  and  showed  a  certain  meagre  capac- 
ity for  expansion.  The  spirit's  growth  is  a 
subtle  thing,  not  lightly  to  be  measured. 

They  had  reached  the  narrow  cliff  path 
and  Luce  had  begun  to  ascend.  Mark  hesi- 
tated a  moment  whether  to  follow  her  or  not. 
She  glanced  down  at  him.  Something  in 
the  expression  of  the  thin,  eager  face  raised 
towards  her  brought  the  tears  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  do  look  divered,  lad ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  What  do  make  'ee  look  so  div- 
ered ? " 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  207 

He  fell  quickly  back  into  the  shadow  of 
the  cliff. 

"  'Tiddn't  nought  but  your  fancy,"  he  an- 
swered. Then  slinging  the  basket  over  his 
shoulder,  he  turned  away.  "  I  be  gwaying 
back  along  by  the  beach,"  he  said,  and  left 
her. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  something 
happened  which  once  more  reinstated  Lupin 
in  the  good  opinion  of  his  fellows.  Spong 
found  no  small  satisfaction  in  the  knowledge 
that  though  not  the  primary  cause  he  him- 
self had  not  a  little  to  do  in  the  bringing  of 
this  change  about. 

The  matter  fell  in  this  way.  One  morn- 
ing a  letter  addressed  to  Lupin,  and  bearing 
a  foreign  postmark,  reached  the  village. 
Lupin  being  still  in  prison,  the  question 
arose  whether  the  letter  should  be  delivered 
at  the  White  Cottage  during  his  absence,  or 
await  his  return,  lying  securely  meanwhile 
in  a  drawer  at  the  post-office.  The  post- 
mistress was  for  retaining  the  letter,  wish- 


208  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

ing,  she  said,  "  to  keep  an  eye  on  it."  Spong, 
stirred  by  a  like  desire,  was  anxious  that  the 
letter  should  be  given  into  his  charge.  Both 
parties  being  persons  of  determination,  it  is 
doubtful  how  the  dispute  would  have  ended 
had  not  the  village  interfered,  which  it  did 
in  the  following  fashion.  A  meeting  was 
held  at  "  The  Fisherman's  Desire,"  and  the 
envelope  containing  the  letter  laid  on  the 
table  for  general  inspection.  No  one  pres- 
ent required  more  than  a  glance  at  the  en- 
velope to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
contents  were  a  matter  of  public  interest, 
but  each  being  a  little  doubtful  of  what 
might  be  passing  in  his  neighbour's  mind, 
was  careful  not  to  formulate  his  opinion  in 
words.  Though,  as  they  all  remarked,  a  let- 
ter might  as  well  be  never  written  as  never 
read. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  beer  was 
handed  round,  every  man  paying  for  his 
neighbour,  a  custom  much  in  fashion  among 
the  villagers,  as  it  imparted  a  sense  of  being 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  209 

generous  and  left  no  one  out  of  pocket  by 
the  transaction.  Tongues  became  loosened 
and  Spong  rose  to  address  the  company. 

"  He  was  not,"  he  said,  "  going  to  argy, 
being  no  believer  in  arguefication,  holding 
sich  as  more  hindrance  than  help. 

"The  letter,"  he  explained,  "came  from 
Australia,  the  same  being  a  colony  of  the 
Crown.  He  hoped  that  all  present  would 
agree  that  what  consarned  the  Crown  con- 
sarned  them." 

The  company  was  not  slow  in  signifying 
assent,  one  man  volunteering  the  remark  that 
"  He  didn't  want  to  set  up  for  being  a 
Radical,  but  he  would  say  the  Crown  was 
terrible  having." 

Spong  took  no  notice  of  the  interruption. 
"  What  consarns  the  Crown  consarus  us,"  he 
repeated.  "Thickey  letter  came  from  a 
colony  o'  Queen  Victoria's  and  let  they  that 
have  anything  to  say,  say  it."  And  with 
this  he  once  more  resumed  his  seat,  putting 
the  letter  on  the  table  and  his  hand  over  it. 


210  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

A  silence  ensued,  the  company  crowding 
closer  round  the  table,  trying  to  peer  through 
Spong's  fingers  at  the  letter  beneath. 

"  I've  opened  'un  unbeknown ! "  he  ex- 
claimed excitedly. 

The  others  craned  forward,  drawing  in 
their  breath,  the  host  alone  preserving  suffi- 
cient presence  of  mind  to  remark  that  Septi- 
mus Spong  must  pay  for  the  beer. 

The  little  postman  raised  no  protest ;  true, 
paying  for  the  beer  would  take  a  good  slice 
out  of  a  week's  wage,  but  that  seemed  small 
compared  with  the  pleasure  in  store.  His 
red  face  grew  redder  as,  after  searching  in 
his  pockets  for  his  spectacles,  he  found  to 
his  dismay  that  they  had  been  left  in  his  old 
coat  hanging  up  against  the  door  of  his 
kitchen.  The  company  however  graciously 
consented  to  wait  while  a  boy  was  de- 
spatched to  fetch  them,  regaling  themselves 
on  Spong's  beer  and  some  well-merited  abuse 
of  Lupin  thrown  in  to  pass  the  time. 

Septimus  did  not  join  in  either  amuse- 


THE    WHITE  COTTAGE  211 

ment ;  it  was  sufficient  for  him  that  he  had 
gained  his  point ;  the  letter  was  to  be  read 
and  he  to  read  it. 

At  last  the  boy  arrived,  breathless,  with 
the  spectacles  tightly  clasped  in  his  hand. 
The  sight  of  him  awoke  a  desire  in  Spong's 
heart  to  prolong  the  joys  of  anticipation. 
Unknown  to  him  the  wish  stood  every 
chance  of  being  gratified,  for  as  he  slow- 
ly and  deliberately  fitted  the  spectacles  on 
his  nose  he  discovered  that  both  glasses 
had  fallen  out.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
he  suppressed  a  cry  of  dismay.  As  yet  no 
one  else  had  noticed  the  absence  of  the 
glasses,  the  eyes  of  all  present  being  fixed  on 
the  unopened  letter ;  but  he  could  not  but 
ask  himself  how  lonsr  would  the  loss  remain 

O 

undiscovered,  and  what  would  happen  when 
the  moment  of  discovery  came.  Well  he 
knew  that  the  patience  of  the  company  had 
been  exhausted  with  the  beer  and  that  there 
was  not  one  of  all  there  present  who  would 
be  willing  to  wait  till  the  missing  glasses 


212  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

were  found.  Shorn  of  his  glasses  the  little 
postman  had  but  scant  power  of  seeing ;  the 
thought,  however,  of  any  other  than  himself 
being  the  first  to  read  the  letter  was  unbear- 
able. He  determined  to  play  a  bold  game. 
There  was  metal  in  the  man,  and  in  this  mo- 
ment of  emergency  his  courage  belled  sound. 

"  Move,  can't  'ee  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  How 
do  'ee  reckon  a  man  can  zee  wi'  'ee  all  fiddling 
round  the  light  like  so  many  mothses  ? 

"  Law  jay  !  "  he  continued,  as  the  company, 
thus  adjured,  fell  back  a  step,  "there  be  a 
deal  more  shadder  than  aught  else  about  the 
bodies  o'  'ee,  and  by  the  same  token  I'll  thank 
'ee  to  stand  in  the  shadder." 

During  the  general  scuffle  of  feet  that  en- 
sued, Spong  spread  the  letter  out  upon  the 
table.  The  writing  was  cramped,  unclear, 
and  not  one  word  could  the  little  postman 
decipher ;  but  his  blood  was  up,  and  if 
through  the  irony  of  an  inconsiderate  fate  he 
was  deprived  of  the  reading  of  the  letter,  he 
determined  to  make  as  good  a  guess  at  the 


THE  WHITE   COTTAGE  213 

contents  as  would  the  wisest  under  a  like  cir- 
cumstance. It  did  not  take  him  many  min- 
utes' rapid  thinking  to  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  letter  contained  news  of  a  legacy, 
but  his  mind  was  still  wavering  as  to  the  ex- 
act amount  when  the  host  of  the  inn  sug- 
gested "an  extry  drop  all  round  at  Mr. 
Spong's  expense." 

Delay,  it  was  fast  becoming  evident,  was 
a  too  expensive  luxury  to  be  indulged  in, 
and  the  little  postman  decided  to  have  done 
with  it. 

"I  must  tell  'ee,"  he  began,  clearing  his 
throat,  and  unconsciously  making  a  dive  be- 
hind him  with  his  hand  as  if  in  search  of  his 
leather  post-bag,  "  that  this  do  be  a  death-bed 
letter." 

The  spirits  of  the  company  rose  at  the  an- 
nouncement. 

"  Did  he  die  hard  ?  "  they  asked. 

"  He  did,  poor  man,  he  did/'  Spong  an- 
swered, shaking  his  head. 

"Whatworit?" 


214  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

"  The  zame  ez  takes  most  o'  'em.  Inter- 
nals." 

"  Well,  I  niver ;  and  over  to  Australie." 

"  A  terrible  spontaneous  place  for  the  zaine, 
so  thay  tells  me,"  the  little  postman  answered, 
his  round,  red  face  shining  with  excitement. 

"  And  be  ut  all  writ  down  on  thicky  bit  o' 
paper  ?  " 

"  Ess,  in  black  and  white,  though  the  man 
that  did  the  job  suffered  a  dal  from  the  rheu- 
matiz  in  his  fingers." 

There  was  a  certain  acidity  about  the  tone 
of  the  latter  half  of  the  remark. 

"  They  has  rheumatiz  over  to  there,  then  ? " 

"  Zims  zo." 

"  Iddn't  there  no  more'n  the  letter  than 
thick  ? " 

"  There's  money  in  it,  that's  what's  in  it," 
Spoug  answered  in  a  solemn  voice. 

"  Begore !  " 

"  And  what  may  be  the  sum  ?  "  asked  the 
host. 

The  little  postman  leant  back  in  his  chair, 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  215 

while  his  small,  deep-set  eyes  seemed  to  grope 
inward.  "  Aj  ?  "  he  exclaimed  slowly,  "  Now 
what  do  you  reckon  it  be  ?  " 

"  Fifty  pun,"  said  the  host  in  a  shaky  voice. 

Again  Spong  leant  back  in  his  chair,  drew 
in  his  breath  and  puffed  it  slowly  out. 
"  More'n  that,"  he  answered. 

"  Begore  !  "  the  company  exclaimed. 

The  host's  voice  became  shakier.  "  A  hun- 
dred !  "  he  suggested. 

Spong  leant  farther  back  in  his  chair  and 
his  eyes  grovelled  deeper  in.  "  More'n  that," 
he  repeated. 

"  Begore  !  "  exclaimed  the  company. 

u  'Tis  to  be  hoped  that  he'll  mind  that  he 
was  born  and  bred  in  these  parts,"  put  in  the 
man  whose  son  knew  about  Shropshire. 

"  Five  hundred ! "  said  the  host  with 
twitching  lips. 

Spong  sat  suddenly  upright  in  his  chair. 
"  Double  ut,"  he  said,  and  then  fell  back  once 
more.  The  company  raised  their  hands,  ex- 
claiming, "  Lauwrd  ha'  mussy  on  us  !  The 


216  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

double  o'  five  hundred  bain't  a  penny  less 
than  a  thousand  pun." 

"  Not  a  penny  less,"  Spong  admitted. 

"  Heaven  heal  us,"  said  the  company. 

"  And  may  Ben  Lupin  be  ez  good  to  me  ez 
I  shall  always  be  to  he,"  devoutedly  remarked 
the  man  whose  son  knew  about  Shropshire. 

"  Us  be  all  vriends  o'  he,"  the  company 
snapped  back. 

The  host,  who  had  been  silent  some  time, 
now  broke  in.  "  Us  must  give  he  a  public 
welcome  home  when  his  time's  up.  I  reckon 
to  myself  that  all  things  considered  he  should 
be  proud  and  willun  to  pay  for  the  beer.  A 
mort  o'  beer — a  man's  fill." 

The  host  rose.  "  But  what  I'm  saying 
to  myzelf  all  the  time,"  he  exclaimed,  laying 
his  hand  on  Spong's  shoulders,  " '  What  shud 
I  do,'  I  ses  to  myself,  '  if  beer  wor  given  free 
fust  and  Ben  Lupin  cut  up  green  and  wudn't 
pay  for  ut  arter  ? '  There  be  no  way  back 
when  the  ale  be  wance  drunk." 

One  by  one  those  present  began  to  steal 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  217 

away — each  wishful  of  being  the  first  to  give 
news  of  the  legacy,  till  at  last  Spong  and  the 
innkeeper  were  left  alone. 

"  I  shud  like  to  ha'  a  look  at  thic  letter 
myzelf  if  so  be  I  might,"  said  the  host. 

"  No  !  "  Spong  replied,  putting  his  hand 
over  it  and  shutting  his  teeth  with  a  snap, 
"  the  letter  is  in  my  keeping  and  he  don't  pass 
out  o'  ut.  Leastways,  not  willunly." 

"Zims  that  the  money  worn't  long  wi'  ut." 

"  The  money's  to  valler." 

"'Tis  a  far  vallering  from  Australie. 
S'posing  it  never  corned  ? " 

Spong  faced  round  to  the  inn-keeper.  "  I 
niver  heard  tull  that  you  wor  to  be  the  better 
for  ut,  anyways,"  rising  and  inadvertently 
leaving  the  envelope  exposed.  The  next  mo- 
ment the  host  had  picked  it  up  and  begun 
eagerly  the  contents. 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  falling  back  against 
the  bar,  tiddn't  nought  but  ordinary  writers' 
trash.  The  iddn't  no  mention  o'  any  legacy 
at  all." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TIDINGS  of  the  legacy  did  not  take  long  to 
reach  the  White  Cottage,  Mrs.  Myrtle  her- 
self acting  as  bearer  of  the  news.  The  old 
woman  felt  that  the  sudden  windfall  that 
had  been  strewn  in  Lupin's  path  afforded  in 
some  unaccountable  way  an  explanation  of 
her  daughter's  obstinate  refusal  to  marry 
Mark.  Personally,  she,  together  with  the 
majority  of  the  villagers,  had  long  since 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  Hester  and  the 
child  perished  on  the  bleak  December  night 
four  years  back.  Hitherto,  however,  this 
belief  had  had  but  small  influence  on  her 
schemes  for  the  future,  feeling  as  she  did 
that  a  man  so  out-of -elbows  with  respectabil- 
ity could  do  little  to  rehabilitate  her  daugh- 
ter in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  But  backed 
by  a  thousand  pounds  Ben  became  at  once  a 

218 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  219 

person  of  consequence,  and  Mrs.  Myrtle  was 
not  slow  to  acknowledge  the  fact.  Less 
alert  of  mind  than  his  wife,  John  Myrtle 
failed  to  look  at  the  matter  in  the  same 
light.  "  He  could  not,"  he  said,  "  see  what 
the  thousand  pounds  had  to  do  with  the 
matter,"  and  no  reason  that  his  wife  could 
adduce  served  to  clear  his  mental  vision. 
There  was  little  doubt  that  so  long  as  Hester 
Lupin's  death  remained  unproved,  the  law 
stood  behind  John  Myrtle's  side  of  the  argu- 
ment, yet  the  old  woman  surmised  that  a 
fallacy  lay  concealed  under  the  apparent 
coincidence,  and  that  laws  made  for  the 
well-to-do  would  not  in  the  end  be  found  to 
run  contrary  to  the  desires  of  a  man  who 
owned  a  thousand  pounds.  Meeting  Mark 
Tavy  at  this  time  she  was  surprised  to  find 
that  her  feelings  towards  the  young  fisher- 
man had  imperceptibly  undergone  a  change ; 
she  no  longer  held  him  in  the  same  high  es- 
teem; something — she  hardly  knew  what — 
had  lowered  him  in  her  estimation.  Stop- 


220  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

ping  in  front  of  Mark,  sue  peered  up  in  his 
face. 

"  Well !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  have  you  heard 
the  news  ?  " 

"  What  news  ?  "  he  answered  vaguely. 

"  Oh,  you're  behindhand  as  usual — why, 
what  news  should  it  be?  Ben  Lupin  has 
been  left  a  thousand  pounds." 

"  So  folks  say.  I  wonder  if  there  be  any 
truth  in  it." 

"  'Tis  true  enough,"  Mrs.  Myrtle  answered 
sharply.  "  Ben  iddn't  like  some  o'  us.  Luck 
'ull  run  for  'un  sooner  or  later." 

The  old  woman's  altered  manner  made 
but  scant  impression  on  Mark,  who  had 
grown  strangely  indifferent  to  what  the  out- 
side world  thought  of  him. 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  "  I  hope  'tis  true, 
he'll  need  all  the  luck  he  can  git." 

Mrs.  Myrtle  drew  in  her  lips — a  trick  she 
had  when  displeased. 

"  You'll  see  they'll  marry  now,"  she  said. 

"  Who  do  'ee  mean  by  they  ?  " 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  221 

"  Her  and  Ben." 

"Luce?" 

"  Who  else  should  I  mean  ? " 

Mark  turned  away  sharply :  "  Tiddn't 
possible  ;  Ben's  wife  may  be  alive,  for  aught 
he  knows." 

"  The  law  u'll  make  it  easy  for  'un." 

"  'Tiddn't  in  the  power  o'  the  law. 

"  You'll  see  'twill  come  about  as  I  say." 

There  was  a  tone  of  conviction  in  the  old 
woman's  voice  that  Mark  found  hard  to  lis- 
ten to  with  indifference.  The  memory  of 
Luce's  unexpected  friendliness  towards  him- 
self returned  to  his  aid.  "  Her'll  never  for- 
gi'e  'un  :  he  wronged  her  too  much  for  that." 

"  Her's  forgiven  'un  already,  though  may- 
be her  don't  know  it." 

"  What  makes  'ee  s&y  thic  ?  " 

"  Why  did  her  come  back  along  home  if 
her  hadn't?  Her  knows  well  enough  'tis 
here  he  could  find  her  if  he  so  wished." 

Again  Mark  was  silent  awhile.  A 
thought  had  passed  through  his  mind,  send- 


222  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

ing  the  colour  into  his  face.  "Her's  been 
more  friendzoine  to  me  o'  late,"  he  said  shyly. 

The  old  woman  laughed.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  laugh,  Mrs.  Myrtle's,  originating  as 
it  did  more  in  contempt  than  amusement, 
and  Mark  winced  while  the  colour  in  his 
face  deepened.  "  Maybe  her  didn't  mean 
nought,"  he  exclaimed. 

"Aye,  you  may  rest  content  wi'  that," 
Mrs.  Myrtle  answered.  "Her  'ull  many 
Ben  Lupin,  and  though  'twas  an  ill  day  for 
her  when  first  she  set  eyes  on  'un,  I  shan't 
raise  no  word  agin  the  weddin." 

Mark  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  her.  It 
was  waste  of  time  to  protest.  All  that  the 
old  woman  prophesied  might  well  come  to 
pass ;  and  yet,  as  he  walked  away,  the  hope 
of  one  day  winning  Luce's  love,  which  had 
been  re-awakened  in  his  heart,  still  smoul- 
dered. Hurrying  forward  he  found  him- 
self suddenly  in  front  of  the  White  Cot- 
tage. He  had  not  noticed  the  way  his  steps 
were  leading  him.  The  door  stood  open, 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  223 

and  he  paused  irresolute  whether  to  enter  or 
no.  Of  what  good  was  it  for  him  to  come 
here  ?  What  could  he  tell  this  woman  ? 
What  ask  her  that  she  would  grant  ?  Soft 
summer  scents  blew  across  to  him  from  the 
garden,  and  a  gillyflower  nodded  overhead, 
where  it  had  grown  in  a  crevice  of  the 
white-washed  wall.  Reaching  up  Mark 
picked  it.  The  flower's  homely  smell  seemed 
to  entice  him  to  enter,  and  pushing  open  the 
gate  he  went  in.  Again  he  stopped  short, 
surprised  at  the  sound  of  sobbing.  From 
where  he  stood  the  interior  of  the  kitchen 
was  visible,  and  he  could  see  Luce  seated  at 
the  table,  her  head  buried  in  her  arms.  Be- 
side her  was  a  small  bundle  of  clothes  and  a 
basket  packed  with  food.  His  thoughts  re- 
turned with  a  sudden  rush  to  the  Sunday 
morning  five  years  ago,  when  she  had  told 
him  of  her  unfaithfulness.  He  could  almost 
hear  her  voice : 

"  I  wanted  to  be  true  to  'ee,  I  tried  to  be 
true  to  'ee,  but  lad  I  just  worn't." 


224  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

It  seemed  to  him  standing  there  that  he 
had  never  wholly  forgiven  her  until  this  mo- 
ment. Raising  her  head  she  saw  him.  Mark, 
scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  entered  the 
cottage.  For  a  moment  she  sat  up  straight 
—  watching  his  approach,  then  her  head 
sank  down  once  more  upon  her  arms, 
and  she  burst  afresh  into  tears.  Mark 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  touched  her 
shyly. 

"Luce,"  he  said;  "Luce." 

She  did  not  answer,  and  his  eyes  wandered 
from  her  to  the  bundle  and  freshly  packed 
basket. 

"  Be  'ee  going  away  ? "  he  asked. 

"'Ess." 

"  Why  don't  'ee  bide  long  wi'  us  ? " 

"  This  iddn't  no  place  for  me  here." 

"  What  do  make  'ee  feel  so  ? " 

There  was  no  reply,  and  silence  fell  be- 
tween them,  broken  at  last  by  Mark. 

"  He'll  be  home  along  soon." 

She  shivered.     Watching  her  a  feeling  of 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  225 

envy  passed  through  the  young  fisherman. 
"  Be  'ee  a-feard  o'  'un  ? "  he  asked. 

Luce  raised  her  head  with  a  gesture  of 
fierce  pride.  "  Why  shud  I  be  a-feard  ?  " 

Again  there  was  silence.  Mark  walked 
to  the  window  and  stared  out  across  the  sea. 
He  had  little  hope  of  winning  this  woman, 
yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  should  never 
cease  striving  to  win  her.  Suddenly  Luce 
turned  to  him,  the  whole  expression  of  her 
face  changed. 

"  Lad,"  she  said,  "  us  wor  childer  together, 
and  I'll  tull  'ee  the  truth — I  be  a-feard — I 
be  a-feard  o'  zeeing  'un  vace  to  vace.  All 
these  long  years  my  heart  has  been  hard 
agin  'un,  and  I  reckoned  maybe  'twud  be  all 
wan  to  me  whether  my  eyes  looked  on  'un  or 
no;  but  he  be  coming  back,  and  I  kind  o' 
feel  'un  near ;  tiddn't  no  furren  lad  zame  ez 
I  thought  to  meet,  but  jest  the  old  Ben. 
I've  been  angered  agin  him  all  these  long 
years,  and  now  my  anger  is  gone  from  me 
and  I  be  a-feard." 


226  THE   WHITE   COTTAGE 

Mark,  standing  looking  at  her,  struggled 
with  a  new  bitterness  that  had  arisen  in  his 
heart.  Her  eyes  had  a  piteous  frightened 
expression  that  he  had  not  seen  there  since 
she  was  a  child.  Hester  Lupin's  name  rose 
to  his  lips,  but  he  was  afraid  to  utter  it, 
dreading  lest  the  mere  mention  of  the  name 
should  set  in  motion  some  new  train  of 
thought,  and  tend  to  confirm  Luce  in  the 
behalf  that  Lupin  was  now  a  free  man. 
Suddenly  and  against  his  will  the  words 
came ;  "  Folks  say  that  Hester  Lupin's 
dead."  Mark  held  his  breath  waiting  for 
her  answer,  and  when  there  was  no  reply 
he  slipped  again  into  the  trap  of  speech. 
"  Maybe  Ben's  quit  o'  her." 

The  girl's  face  hardened.  "  Not  a-fore  the 
law." 

"No,"  he  asserted  eagerly,  "  the  law  be  all 
for  evidence." 

Luce  laughed  a  short,  harsh  laugh.  "  The 
law  be  right,"  she  said;  "who  knows  but 
her  might  rise  and  come  a- 1 ween  us  agin  ?  " 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  227 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  which  Mark 
struggled  to  prolong,  then  he  said :  "  S'pos- 
ing  her  niver  coined  back" 

"Her  wud  ha'  come  a-tween  us;  maybe 
that's  all  her  wants." 

"  You  wudn't "  Mark  exclaimed,  and 

stopped  short. 

"  I  will  niver  valler  'un  to  dishonour,"  she 
said  huskily.  "  I  must  be  gwaying,"  she 
continued  in  an  altered  voice.  Stooping 
down  she  picked  up  her  bundle. 

Mark  caught  her  hand.  "  Luce,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  why  must  'ee  go  ?  Bide  long  o' 
me.  I  will  make  'ee  a  good  husband." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  only  half  under- 
stood what  he  said. 

"'Twull  be  less  lonezome  for  'ee,"  he 
pleaded. 

"  I'm  fair  used  to  being  lonezome,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  smile  at  the  dreariness  of  her 
own  plight. 

"  But  you  be  but  a  young  slip  o'  a 
thing  now,  what  wull  it  be  when  you  come 


228  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

to  grow  old?  'Twull  be  a  deal  lonezomer 
then." 

"  'Tiddn't  o'  thic  I  be  a-f eard." 

"  But  you  be  a-f  eard." 

The  words  seemed  to  recall  the  memory  of 
some  new  peril  to  her.  "  I  must  be  gwaying," 
she  exclaimed  hurriedly.  "  This  is  no  place 
for  me." 

He  caught  her  arms  and  forced  her  back 
into  the  chair.  "  Listen  Luce,  bide  a  bit  till 
I  sell  my  boats,  then  I'll  valler  'ee  where  'ee 
wull.  I'll  be  a  good  husband  to  'ee,  Luce. 
I'll  niver  cross  'ee.  You'll  veel  a  deal  safer." 

She  had  scarce  listened  to  what  he  said,  but 
the  last  words  caught  and  fixed  her  attention. 

"  Safer,"  she  repeated  musingly. 

Mark,  inwardly  bitter,  saw  his  advantage 
and  pressed  it.  "  There  ull  be  zomewan  to 
stand  a-tween  'ee  then,"  he  said. 

The  girl's  head  sank  down  once  more  be- 
tween her  arms.  "  Go,"  she  said.  "  I  be 
mortal  wearied,  and  termorrer  I  wull  tell  'ee 


ess  or  no." 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  229 

Then  he  went  out ;  but  he  was  filled  with 
fear  lest  when  the  nisjht  came  she  should  steal 

O 

away  under  the  cover  of  darkness,  so,  finding 
shelter  beside  a  hedge,  he  lay  down  and 
waited.  Dusk  fell,  the  moon  swung  herself 
up  above  the  hills,  and  Mark,  whose  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  White  Cottage,  saw  the 
door  open  slowly.  A  moment  later  and  Luce, 
bearing  her  bundle,  passed  through  the 
wicket-gate  into  the  road.  She  was  crying, 
and  Mark  could  hear  the  low  choked-back 
sobs  as  rising  to  his  feet  he  prepared  to  fol- 
low her. 

Up  the  hill  she  went,  her  slight  figure 
throwing  a  long  shadow  in  the  moonlight. 
He  had  kicked  off  his  boots  and  was  follow- 
ing her  barefoot.  Once  she  glanced  round, 
and  he  pressed  close  up  against  the  hedge, 
sheltering  behind  a  great  bush  of  sloes.  He 
allowed  the  distance  between  them  to  in- 
crease, losing  sight  of  her  in  the  windings  of 
the  road,  but  the  sound  of  her  weeping  came 
to  him  through  the  still  night.  Having 


230  THE  WHITE   COTTAGE 

climbed  the  hill  she  stopped;  she  had 
reached  the  last  point  from  whence  the 
"White  Cottage  was  visible  among  the  trees. 
It  looked  small  enough,  with  the  moon  shin- 
ing down  from  a  widespread  sky  above  on 
to  a  widespread  sea  beneath,  but  at  the  sight 
of  it  an  overpowering  loneliness  and  fear  of 
what  the  future  might  have  in  store  took 
possession  of  her.  Suddenly — almost  with- 
out set  purpose — she  began  to  retrace  her 
steps;  then,  as  she  went  on,  her  purpose 
formed  and  her  pace  became  more  hurried, 
till  at  last  she  broke  into  a  run.  Stretching 
out  her  arms  she  fled  forward — it  was  as  if 
she  feared  that  the  little  cottage  that  stood 
so  white  and  compact  before  her  eyes  might 
have  vanished,  lost  in  the  tearing  asunder  of 
a  dream.  Mark  saw  her  reach  the  door, 
wrench  open  the  lock,  and  enter. 

He  broke  into  an  unconscious  sigh  of  re- 
lief. 

"Maybe  her  will  let  me  work  for  her 
now,"  he  said. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  231 

When  the  morning  came  he  knocked  at 
the  cottage,  and  she  came  out  to  him. 

"  Be  it  'ess,  Luce  ?  "  he  asked  tremulously. 

She  looked  for  a  moment  in  his  face,  pale 
and  worn  as  her  own. 

"  'Ess,"  she  answered. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  FEW  days  later  a  report  spread  to  Bere- 
tlpton  that  Lupin  had  been  released.  Some 
three  weeks  had  yet  to  run  before  the  expira- 
tion of  the  sentence,  and  the  news  of  his 
premature  discharge  threw  the  village  into  a 
ferment.  The  knowledge  that  after  all  the 
legacy  was  non-existent  gave  a  sense  of  per- 
sonal loss.  The  indignation  aroused  at  the 
discovery  fell  not  on  Spong,  the  perpetrator 
of  the  fraud,  but  Lupin,  the  villagers  feeling 
that  free  beer  and  forgiveness  once  united 
could  not  again  be  cut  asunder.  So  marked 
was  the  general  displeasure,  that  some  of  the 
younger,  more  highly  strung,  and  possibly 
more  moral  of  the  Bere-Uptonites,  expressed 
their  determination  to  duck  Ben  in  the  horse- 
pond  the  moment  he  was  rash  enough  to  set 
foot  inside  the  village ;  he  was  not,  to  put  it 

232 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  233 

grimly,  to  be  defrauded  of  his  public  wel- 
come, merely  the  nature  of  the  welcome  was 
to  be  changed.  A  certain  unexpected  deli- 
cacy of  sentiment  prevented  the  villagers  from 
making  their  intention  known  to  Luce ;  and 
when,  late  one  afternoon,  Lupin  was  descried 
coming  over  the  hill,  she  was  ignorant  both 
of  his  coming  and  the  reception  that  awaited 
him.  Her  promise  to  marry  Mark  remained 
a  secret,  and  she  tried  to  thrust  the  memory 
of  it  between  herself  and  the  thought  of  Lu- 
pin ;  but  it  proved  a  feeble  weapon  of  de- 
fence, which  she  had  already  come  to  regret 
having  laid  hands  on.  After  all,  it  would 
have  been  better  to  have  fled  away  alone ; 
she  had  but  added  to  her  burden  a  double 
weight  of  responsibility.  Courage  to  retract 
her  promise  failed  her.  True,  it  had  not  been 
of  Mark  that  she  had  thought  in  giving  her 
consent,  but  none  the  less  she  had  been  star- 
tled at  the  effect  her  words  had  on  him.  He, 
for  his  part,  had  wasted  no  time  in  prepara- 
tions for  the  wedding,  but  having  sold  his 


234  THE   WHITE  COTTAGE 

boats  to  the  first  bidder,  had  gone  to  a  town 
some  ten  miles  further  down  the  coast,  where 
she  was  to  join  him  later,  and  from  whence 
they  were  to  be  privately  married.  The  in- 
terval of  waiting  seemed  interminable  to 
Luce,  each  day  bringing  the  coming  of  Lupin 
nearer.  There  were  moments  in  the  long 
watches  of  the  night  when  it  was  as  if  he  had 
already  come,  recalling  her  imperiously  to  the 
duties  of  wifehood.  Putting  out  her  hands, 
she  would  try  and  thrust  him  from  her,  only 
to  grasp  the  thin,  intangible  air ;  and  yet  she 
felt  that  he  had  conquered,  and  remembering 
her  wounded  honour,  shrank  back  appalled 
from  those  nuptial  embraces  in  which  her 
spirit  succumbed  to  his.  It  seemed  to  her 
strange  and  terrifying  that  her  wrongs  no 
longer  served  as  a  barrier  between  her  and 
the  man  who  had  injured  her ;  for  close  on 
five  years  she  had  leaned  on  it  in  fancied 
security,  now  it  had  fallen,  and  she  knew  not 
where  to  lay  hands  upon  another. 

The  afternoon  was  fast  drawing  to  a  close, 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  235 


the  sky,  heavy  with  clouds,  sagged  earth- 
wards in  soft  grey  mists.  Looking  west  a 
darker  line  showed  where  sea  and  horizon 
met.  Sound  travelled  dully,  but  Luce,  as 
she  sat  by  the  open  window,  ceased  working 
from  time  to  time,  and  listened  to  a  hoarse, 
confused  noise  that  broke  in  upon  her.  It 
was  like  a  cry  of  anger  torn  from  men's 
mouths  in  the  uttering,  and  changed  to  a 
laugh,  at  once  crueller  and  fiercer  than  the 
passion  that  preceded  it.  Luce  shuddered 
unconsciously,  though  she  gave  little  thought 
to  the  reason  of  the  tumult.  On  the  table 
lay  a  suit  of  Ben's  old  clothes  ;  she  was  put- 
ting a  patch  in  the  sleeve.  Tears  trickled 
slowly  down  her  face  as  she  worked,  but  the 
stitches  were  close  and  fine ;  it  was  a  small 
thing  that  she  could  do  for  him,  and  she 
took  heed  that  she  did  it  well.  Patched  and 
stained,  they  smelt  of  the  sea,  these  old  blue 
serge  clothes.  She  fingered  the  cloth  ten- 
derly, in  some  subtle  way  it  reminded  her  of 
the  character  of  its  owner. 


236  THE  WHITE   COTTAGE 

"  There  be  wear  in  'ee  yit,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Rare  good  stuff  but  hard  used.  Ben  and 
'ee  be  much  o'  a  muchness." 

The  sound  of  the  tumult  grew  louder,  the 
shrill  shriek  of  a  boy  making  itself  heard 
above  the  duller  roar  from  men's  throats. 
Putting  down  her  work  Luce  rose  and  went 
to  the  door.  Far  up  near  the  head  of  the 
lane  a  crowd  heaved,  kicked,  screamed,  now 
lurching  lop-sidedly  forward  a  few  steps  and 
then  again  falling  back  as  if  it  were  pushed, 
pulled,  and  made  a  fool  of  by  some  invisible 
power.  Frightened  and  yet  curious,  Luce 
approached  nearer,  and  saw  the  gigantic 
figure  of  Thomas  Ticknor  emerge  for  a  brief 
space  from,  and  then  lost  again  in,  the  strug- 
gling mass.  A  moment  later  she  caught 
sight  of  her  father  laying  about  him  right 
vigorously  with  his  fists.  Then  the  crowd 
parted,  and  a  half-naked  man  rolled  out 
from  among  it  and  lay,  a  bloody  limp  heap, 
in  the  middle  of  the  road.  With  a  shriek  of 
delight  the  crowd  pounced  and  all  but 


THE   WHITE   COTTAGE  237 

reached  him,  when  rising  he  scuttled  forward 
straight  for  the  White  Cottage.  Slacking 
pace  a  moment  to  shake  a  fist  at  the  mob  he 
came  more  slowly  past  Luce,  and  she  recog- 
nized, in  the  bleeding,  mud-bedraggled  figure, 
Ben  Lupin.  She  watched  him  enter  the  cot- 
tage, and  when  the  door  closed  behind  him 
she  turned  on  the  crowd  with  a  fury  exceed- 
ing its  own.  Half  satiated,  but  loth  to  let 
go  of  its  prey,  the  mob  faced  her  motionless, 
stubborn,  ill  at  ease.  Intent  on  protecting 
the  man  she  loved,  Luce  had  no  words  to 
throw  at  the  hungry  crowd,  yet  she  held  it  at 
bay  by  sheer  force  of  will.  Driven  to  reflect 
the  mob  at  once  became  ashamed,  edging 
back  from  the  woman,  and  she,  with  a  quick 
glance  of  scorn,  turned  and  entered  the  cot- 
tage. 

In  the  few  moments'  respite  Ben  had  flung 
off  his  torn,  muddy  rags,  and  dressed  himself 
in  the  old  blue  serge  suit  that  lay  on  the 
table.  His  face  was  cut  and  bruised,  mud 
caked  in  his  hair  and  eyes,  but  he  had  lost 


238  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

his  hunted  look,  and  had  once  more  become 
master  of  himself.  Taking  a  thick  stick  from 
the  corner  of  the  kitchen,  he  turned  to  Luce. 

"  I  be  gwaying  out  to  'em,"  he  said. 

"  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed,  putting  out  her 
hands. 

"  But  I  be,"  he  answered,  stubborn  and 
unabashed  by  the  thought  of  the  sorry  figure 
he  had  cut  but  a  moment  back. 

She  flung  herself  upon  her  knees.  "They'll 
kill  'ee  !  " 

"  I'll  be  quits  wi'  the  cowards  fust,"  he 
answered. 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  a  new  wave  of  emo- 
tion sweeping  over  her  as  she  remembered 
again  all  that  she  had  to  fear  from  this  man. 
"Go  if  you  will,"  she  said  bitterly,  "life 
iddn't  everything  arter  all." 

Ben  halted,  struck  by  her  apparent  indif- 
ference. "  'Tis  all  the  zame  to  'ee,  I  s'pose, 
whether  I  be  killed  or  no." 

"You  be  nought  to  me  now,"  she  an- 
swered, turning  away  her  head. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  239 

"'Ee  say  thic,  Luce?" 

"  'Ess — arter  what  you've  done." 

"  You'll  no  live  wi'  me  again  ?  " 

"  Do  'ee  reckon  I  be  so  mortal  fond  o'  dis- 
honour ? " 

"You'll  no  live  wi'  me  again?"  he  re- 
peated, raising  his  voice. 

"  Haven't  I  told  'ee  ?  " 

"  Luce,"  he  exclaimed,  drawing  close  and 
putting  his  arm  round  her,  *'  'tiddn't  nought 
but  talk,  thic  ?  " 

She  pushed  him  from  her.  "I  do  mean 
what  I  say,"  she  exclaimed  feebly.  "  Me 
and  Mark "  then  she  stopped  short. 

But  Lupin  paid  no  heed.  "Where's  the 
chile  ? "  he  exclaimed,  looking  round  with  a 
start.  "  Be  'un  a-zlape  in  t'other  room  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  and  he  rose  and  went 
to  the  bedroom  in  search  of  it 

Meanwhile,  Mark,  hearing  from  a  chance 
stranger  of  Lupin's  return,  was  hurrying  back 
to  Bere-Upton.  He  had  no  fear  that  Luce 
would  again  play  him  false,  but  he  cursed 


240  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

himself  for  making  her  trials  harder.  Re- 
membering the  many  days  that  had  elapsed 
since  he  had  obtained  her  consent,  he  was 
filled  with  self -torment  at  his  own  folly.  He 
had  foreseen  no  need  of  hurry,  that  was  his 
excuse.  But  he  should  have  remembered 
that  Lupin  had  always  forestalled  him.  The 
grey  mists  lay  low  upon  the  hills,  now  rising 
a  moment  to  show  a  strip  of  short  green  turf, 
then  enshrouding  the  young  fisherman  till  his 
clothes  dripped  wet  on  his  cold  body.  Fol- 
lowing the  line  of  the  cliffs  he  suddenly  drew 
up  short.  Beneath  him  grew  a  mass  of  thrift, 
and  he  remembered,  with  a  start  of  pain,  that 
it  was  a  flower  Luce  loved.  With  a  smile, 
half  of  contempt,  at  himself  for  wasting  time 
at  such  a  moment  on  such  an  errand,  he  rap- 
idly descended  the  cliff  and  gathered  a  bunch 
of  the  tiny  pink-faced  flower.  Turning  to 
go  he  cast  a  hasty  glance  round,  and  saw 
further  below,  and  stretching  out  from  be- 
neath a  big  rock,  what  in  the  grey  misty  light 
resembled  the  skeleton  of  a  hand  and  arm. 


THE   WHITE  COTTAGE  241 

Startled,  lie  went  a  step  nearer,  and  the  thing 
changed  in  appearance,  growing  to  look  like 
a  dead  tree  branch.  "Wasting  no  further  time, 
Mark  began  to  reascend  the  cliff,  and  had  all 
but  reached  the  top  when  some  power  stronger 
than  his  will  drove  him  back  once  more. 
Vexed  at  the  delay  he  sprang  down  the  cliff 
side,  slipping  and  jumping  till  he  planted  his 
feet  on  the  rock,  and  as  he  did  so  he  felt  the 
big  stone  slowly  lurch  forward.  Gripping  a 
thorn  tree  that  grew  near  with  one  hand,  and 
digging  the  other  deep  into  the  turf,  he  held 
his  breath  while  the  rock  rolled  down  the  cliff 
and  fell  with  a  dull  thud  into  the  sea  below. 
A  moment  passed  and  Mark's  eyes,  following 
the  track  of  the  stone,  fell  upon  a  skeleton 
which,  shaken  out  of  its  concealment,  lay 
stretched  upon  the  grass.  The  grey  hair  at- 
tached to  the  skull  showed  by  its  great  length 
that  the  skeleton  was  a  woman's,  and  Mark, 
staring  down,  knew  instinctively  that  he  was 
looking  on  all  that  remained  of  the  ill-fated 
Hester  Lupin.  Near  her  was  another  and 


242  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 

smaller  heap  of  bones.  A  wind  rose  and 
swept  away  the  mists  so  that  the  sea  looked 
bluer,  the  grass  greener,  and  the  bones  whiter, 
and  Mark  stared  down  at  them  till  he  lost 
the  power  of  seeing.  One  question  circled 
continually  in  his  brain.  "  Why  had  he  been 
called  upon  to  find  the  bones  now?  Why 
not  five  years  ago  ?  Why  now  ? " 

Night  fell,  and  when  darkness  had  hidden 
the  skeletons  he  threaded  his  way  up  the 
cliffs  face,  turned  once  more  in  the  direction 
of  the  village,  and  as  he  walked  he  muttered, 
"  Tiddn't  to  be  expected  that  I  shud  tull." 

The  door  of  the  White  Cottage  was  open; 
the  moon,  rising,  shone  in  on  Mark  and  on  a 
a  small  piece  of  pink  thrift  that  he  still  held 
in  his  hand.  When  he  saw  the  flower  he 
suddenly  cried  out  as  one  possessed :  "  Luce, 
Luce !  You  be  free  to  marry  who  you  wull." 

But  she  had  not  waited  to  be  released ; 
the  cottage  was  empty,  she  had  left  it  to  fol- 
low Lupin. 


THE  WHITE  COTTAGE  243 

Years  passed ;  the  White  Cottage  fell  into 
disrepair,  for  the  villagers  held  the  house  to 
be  unlucky,  and  no  one  ventured  to  live 
there ;  but  each  year,  with  the  coming  round 
of  summer,  Mark  would  steal  into  the  little 
garden,  sit  beneath  the  apple  tree,  and,  clos- 
ing his  eyes,  dream  that  the  cottage  was  his 
home,  Luce  his  wife,  and  the  voices  on  the 
breeze  those  of  his  children. 


FINIS. 


OTHER    BOOKS    BY   "ZACK" 

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PRESS   OPINIONS 

"  It  seems  impossible  that  this  simple  story  of  Dev- 
onshire folk  should  fail  to  arouse  enthusiasm  among 
students  of  good  fiction.  Its  inspiration  is  so  ample, 
vigorous,  and  fresh,  and  its  execution  so  masterfully 
free.  .  .  .  As  you  read  'Zack's'  pages  you  feel, 
beneath  the  surface  of  expression,  the  strong,  easy, 
leisurely  pulse  of  an  imagination  calmly  exulting  in 
its  own  power." — Academy. 

"There  are  scenes  and  situations  set  forth  with  the 
utmost  simplicity  of  phrase  which  yet  strike  the  reader 
with  that  directness  of  impact  of  which  Heine  pos- 
sessed the  supreme  secret  in  verse." — Spectator. 

"Is something  more  than  remarkable.  .  .  .  We 
have  not  read  for  a  long  time  any  piece  of  prose  fic- 
tion which  impressed  us  so  much — indeed,  it  is  a 
question  whether  any  woman  among  those  now  writ- 
ing in  this  country  has  done  anything  so  masterly. ' ' 

— Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  One  of  those  rare  stories  that  stand  apart  from 
their  fellows.  .  .  .  Tragic  yet  simple,  true  and 
yet  not  harsh,  'ZackV  story  moves  inevitably  towards 
the  final  page." — Outlook. 

"  Few  novels  of  the  present  moment  are  more  im- 
pressive or  more  vital  than  'On  Trial,'  by  the  lady 
who  writes  under  the  noni  de  plume  of  '  Zack. '  It  is 
a  powerful  story,  grim,  melodramatic,  tragical,  indeed, 
but  full  of  beauty  and  instinct  with  knowledge  of 
the  human  heart — particularly  of  a  woman's  heart." 
— Chicago  Evening  Post. 


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PRESS   OPINIONS 

"  There  is  something  large  and  majestical  as  of 
granite  and  the  sea  in  these  characters  'Zack'  has 
drawn  for  us.  ...  It  is  stimulating  and  whole- 
some, full  of  zest  as  rough  weather,  near  to  the  earth, 
dealing  with  lowly  types  without  being  flippant  or 
sordid. ' '  — Bliss  Carman. 

"  In  our  last  issue  we  printed  an  article  on  this 
remarkable  book.  Since  then  we  have  read  the 
volume  again,  with  the  result  that  we  advise  every- 
body who  cares  for  distinguished  work  to  read  '  Life 
is  Life.'  Although  the  author's  first  book  it  is  not 
merely  a  book  of  promise.  It  is  a  performance  and 
a  fine  performance.  We  welcome  '  Zack '  to  an  upper 
room  in  the  House  of  Letters." — The  Academy. 

"  The  stories  are  full  of  power.  They  are  poignant. 
They  possess  a  quality  of  tragic  and  dramatic  force." 

— The  Spectator. 

"There  is  a  flavor  of  originality  which  is  never 
missing.  '  Zack '  will  take  rank  as  a  strong  writer." 

— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  'Zack'  has  shown  a  mastery  that  entitles  her  to 
rank  with  the  best  short-story  writers  in  the  language. ' ' 

— The  Bookman. 


Charles  Scribner  s  Sons  I53~z&*for 


A-ve. 
k 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  801  823     6 


293  F.        The  White  Cottage 


ZACK 


The  White  Cottage  stands  on  the  cliff  and  looks  out  over  the  sea — a  silent  witness 
to  the  happiness  and  sorrow  which  comes  with  the  mystery  called  love.  Luce,  a 
Devonshire  maiden,  fragile  and  bonny  and  sweet,  promises,  albeit  reluctantly,  to 
marry  the  fisherman  Mark,  her  comrade  and  lover  from  childhood.  After  the  banns 
are  called,  the  hidden  embers  of  a  passionate  love  for  the  returning  village  scape- 
grace burst  into  irresistible  flarne.  She  jilts  Mark ;  and  Ben — stalwart,  light- 
hearted,  and  masterful — leads  her  to  the  White  Cottage  as  his  wife.  They  are 
happy  in  an  affection  so  tender  and  deep  that  Mark' s  prayer  for  \  engeance  seems 
an  idle  futility.  Yet  there  is  a  thunderbolt  to  fall,  a  thunderbolt  dire  and  fateful. — 
It  would  be  manifestly  unfair  to  an  exceptionally  able  piece  of  work  to  tell  further 
how  the  situation  is  worked  out.  The  story,  however,  is  a  tragic  and  intense 
interpretation  of  the  curious  fatality  of  love.  It  may  interest  some  readers  to  know 
that  "  Zack"  is  the  pen  name  of  Miss  Gwendoline  Keats,  and  that  she  is  a  grand- 
niece  of  the  poet  Keats. — Boo/clovers  Bulletin. 


